


Body of Work

by amybeegood



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Dyad in Crime, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, And by brass tacks I mean fucking, And honestly why would they?, Another dark and twisted Amy special...buckle up ;), Attempted Murder, Blowjobs as payment for services rendered, But it's parked so it's fine, But they're serial killers..., But very enthusiastically consensual when it gets down to brass tacks, Complete, Dark Reylo, Depraved possessive murderous Kylo Ren, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Don't worry they're into it, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Handcuffs, He has dark thoughts with Rey but doesn't act on them, I Missed Your Murderous Face Sex, Interrogation sex, Just as soon as they stop trying to do each other in, Kindred Spirits, Knifeplay, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo definitely falls first and hard, Kylo the Panty Thief, Light Choking, May touch on some non-con behaviors and thinking on both of their parts, Murder, Murder Praise Kink, Murder is our love language, Non-sex-related Blood and Gore, Not as much angst as you might be expecting, Oh so Devoted, Oral Sex, Oral in an Eighteen Wheeler, Prolly gonna be darkish, Recognition for a job well done is always appreciated, Rey is no peach either, Rough Sex, Ruthless bloodthirsty territorial Rey, Sex, Shower Sex, Sick and Twisted, Smut, Soulmates, Spanking, THEY'RE IN LOVE YA'LL, Teamwork makes the dream work, That's how you know it's true love, The Couple That Slays Together Stays Together, These kids can't keep their hands off each other, This is NOT the most fucked up thing I've written, Toothpick kink, True Love, Try it. You'll like it. I swear., Vengeance spree, Violence, Wall Sex, Ya'll know what to expect from me by now, a bit of a daddy kink, and dirty talk, cheap motel sex, definitely sex, filth and smut, it's pretty fun, lots of dirty talk, murder babies just want to murder in peace why is that so hard?, nobody is innocent here, passionate violent fucking, reylo is endgame, serial killer fluff, why not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24723547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amybeegood/pseuds/amybeegood
Summary: He’s a serial killer who murders hitchhikers.She’s a serial killer who murders the people who pick her up.An unconventional love story.Based on this lovelyTwitter prompt.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1898
Kudos: 1572
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection





	1. The Body

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaliforniaQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliforniaQueen/gifts), [BensCalligraphySet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BensCalligraphySet/gifts).



> [Body of Work Playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/46ef6LvnnoRF3xv6uarc7K?si=i1hYFJl_QvmTdOulFcTmtw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Wanderer, Dion](https://open.spotify.com/track/4EoUALVwY4i7U6uKRhk8hr?si=z_LeeCSLTjq-uRzZK1M0dw)   
>  [Have Love Will Travel, The Sonics](https://open.spotify.com/track/2uXkW8uJcOIhlbUatEPLPs?si=uiwFVOzdTxiYg8qaTvQDbA)

# 

# The Body

She only just manages to stuff the corpse’s limp leg back into the gas station outhouse and jimmy the door locked with a piece of bent wire when she hears it. The far-off roar of an engine.

Hot sand sweeps across her ankles as she makes her way to the highway, shading her eyes despite her newly acquired sunglasses – Ray-Ban aviators – looking for the source of the noise.

Sunshine glints off the chrome as it barrels down the desert road and a plume of reddish dust is turned up by the truck's tires. A big rig with an empty trailer.

_Well, now, that suits me just fine._

She shucks off her raggedy flannel and ties it around her waist to reveal a none-too-clean wifebeater. It used to be white, and it’s her favorite. She’s managed to get the worst of the bloodstains out with a combination of hydrogen peroxide and good old-fashioned scrubbing, but the garment is far from new.

Still, it shows off her toned arms and complements the tiny jean shorts she’s wearing. Which rather nicely exhibit her long, lean legs, tanned to a golden brown like the rest of her. The tan highlights her freckles.

And those? Well, those are just bait.

The truck is far enough away for her to take her time as she saunters to the two-lane blacktop, curb-less and dusty like everything else in this godforsaken, middle of nowhere hellhole. Nothing out here but plenty of cacti and some rocky red mountains off in the distance.

Them and the gas station, now very much unattended.

She kinda hopes the truck is driving through and isn’t going to be making a stop. If it stops and the driver needs the station attendant, she’ll have to kill the driver, too, and she doesn’t know how to drive a big rig, so she’ll only be stranded until another ride comes by. And she really should try to put some miles between herself and here.

Calculating, she watches the truck approach. 

_Please be a man…preferably a lonely, bored one who’s dumb enough to pick up someone like me._

She cocks her hip and sticks out her thumb and her heart skips a beat or two when the truck slows up to the shoulder and stops with a loud hiss of brakes. The engine’s idle is a low rumble, and the driver apparently doesn’t intend to pull into the station, thank the good Lord.

 _Been a while since I did a trucker_ , she thinks. _Maybe I’ll take my time with this one. Have some real fun first._

In all truth, the gas station attendant was more necessity than pleasure. It’s not like he picked her up and gave her a ride anywhere. Not like the others.

She clambers up the shiny chrome stepboards and chucks her dirty backpack ahead of her into the cab. Her backpack is heavy, freshly stuffed with all kinds of shit she scavenged from the gas station. She hops in the passenger seat with a hearty, half-staged sigh and is immediately hit with the prettiest whiskey-colored gaze she’s ever seen.

“Hi!” she chirps and is met with an easy-going, awfully attractive smile, just a little crooked and charming as all get-out.

_Ohhhh. You’re gonna be a fun one._

“Hey there, little lady. Need a ride?”

“Sure do,” she grins, tucking her seat-belt around herself before he pulls onto the road again.

“All by your lonesome?” He grunts the question and clucks his tongue around a toothpick that he shifts from side to side almost as frequently as his eyes flicker over her legs and her tits and the road. “What’s a sweet little thing like yourself doing out here all alone? Don't you know there's monsters who prey on pretty girls like you?”

Instead of answering, she counters with, “Well, why’d you pick me up, mister? How do you know I’m not a serial killer?”

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends hot shivers to her belly. Those whiskey eyes slide over her off-white tank top again until her nipples get hard.

“Aww, hell, I’ll take the chance. The odds of there being two serial killers in one rig would be astronomical,” he jokes.

She laughs out loud. It’s an old joke, but he's a bit older than she is. Thirty? Maybe thirty-two? She decides she likes his sense of humor.

_Shit. Sexy as hell and funny, too. Maybe I’ll let you live a while…we’ll see._

She makes a bit of a show checking him out. He’s a large man, but not bulky. She can tell by the way his shoulders fill out his black and red flannel and the way the muscles of his thighs move under his jeans as he drives, he's got a nice body. Big.

It takes a minute or two for her to stop staring at the huge, manly hands gripping the steering wheel.

Yep. Big and sexy.

_I’ll bet you look just fine under them clothes. Real fine._

“I’m Ben. What’s your name, sugar?”

Ah. Time to get the formalities down. This part is a familiar dance. Every single person who picks up a hitcher seems to know the routine on instinct.

“Rey.”

“Where you from?” He keeps his smile on. Engaging, but not scary or creepy. He’s done this a time or two.

“Around.” She puts just enough edge to her voice to keep the prodding questions to a minimum. Sure enough, it works.

“Where ya headed?”

“Anywhere.”

The toothpick flicks back and forth again and he nods. Friendly, but not pushy. He has pretty lips, almost too pretty to be on a man. Oh, but he’s definitely a man. He has facial hair, kinda scruffy, and she wonders what he looks like without it and if she can cajole him into shaving before she puts his lights out.

_Hmm. Maybe we’ll find out._

And his hair, now _ooooh_ , she wouldn’t mind getting her hands in those thick, dark, wavy locks, currently spilling out from under a battered _First Order_ trucker hat.

She props her foot on her seat, not the dashboard. They haven’t quite reached that stage of their relationship for her to be _too_ forward. Not yet.

Besides, it’s part of the fun to see how long it takes before they start hinting at sex. Usually, it starts with them telling her–

“You just make yourself right at home, sweetheart. I fueled up at the last stop and we’re gonna be on the road for a bit. I’d like to cross a state line or two before stoppin’. If you’re agreeable?”

“Sounds good, mister.” She unbuckles her seat belt so she can reach for his hat, which she pulls off his head and plops onto hers without adjusting the snaps, even though it’s way too big, just like him.

He's perfect.

_You gonna put up a fight, I wonder? I'll just bet you will._

His high cheekbones flush a little pink as she inspects him with candid avarice. Smiling to herself, she reclines just a bit and closes her eyes for a little snooze. She can feel him looking at her, can almost taste how interested he is.

_That’s right. You just think about it. I’ll make sure you’re real happy before I send you off to sleep._

* * *

_Now, this sweet thing is gonna take the edge off real good._

Like a metronome, his toothpick flips back and forth, an unconscious gesture he adopted ever since he quit smoking three years ago when he realized the ladies didn’t care for the smell so much.

Not that it ever mattered in the end. But still. Doesn’t help to lure them in when you taste like a stale-ass fuckin’ ashtray.

She’s dozing for now, and he figures he’ll let her rest up a while. He meant it when he said he wanted to get across state lines, maybe two.

Be good to get far away before the body in the toolbox bolted to the back of the truck starts to stink. The last one before this was a real bitch to cover up, and he isn't keen on a repeat. He needs a break. Something easy. Pretty.

He looks over the slim line of his newest passenger’s legs, stretched out like a warm sunset or a piece of artwork on display just for him.

And he knows it's just for him. Weren’t no mistaking the look in those hazel eyes of hers when she gave him that same assessing appraisal they all seem to dish out the second they meet him.

Like they just can’t wait to get his skivvies off and have a taste.

Which is fine. He don’t really mind so long as they know they’re gonna die in the end.

They always do.

And fuck, if that’s not his favorite part. When they _know_. 

He grins and flips the radio on, but quiet. She should get all the rest she can, while she can. He’ll have her begging for a more permanent nap soon enough.


	2. The Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twilight Time, The Platters](https://open.spotify.com/track/1tu5rCtK0jCLMeoWCYnttf?si=9kWz9_PQS5y1njbsaxHB8w)   
>  [Runaround Sue, Dion](https://open.spotify.com/track/1JOir33J9gtVyBN8VsmKqn?si=GC8KJ_AeRMWRqSP-zYEBbQ)

# The Work

She blinks awake from under the bill of his hat and quickly gets her bearings.

_Eighteen-wheeler. Big, sexy truck driver. Still driving. Right._

With his cap off, his shoulder-length hair is all windswept from the partially open windows, and every time the breeze ruffles the dark locks just right, she glimpses the shell of an ear, large and well-formed, and maybe angled just a bit awkwardly, like the rest of his features that individually seem like a bit of a hodge-podge, but in combination form an appealing package.

In the long passenger’s side-mirror outside her window, she watches the sun dip to the horizon in a fiery blaze until the sky glows red and orange. It feels like they’ve traveled a ways.

She glances over at him again. His toothpick is gone, and he’s wearing a pair of vintage, fluorescent, wrap-around Oakleys to combat the glare of the setting sun.

“Nice shades, Axl Rose,” she snorts by way of indicating she's awake.

He throws her a dirty look she can feel from behind the reflective lenses of his Oakleys, but he doesn’t say anything.

She giggles. “Nineteen eighty-seven called and wants its sunglasses back.”

“What about them Ray-Bans you’re wearin’? Bet somebody wants those back, too,” he counters, unrattled by her teasing.

Offended, she cries, “They were a gift!”

But, she doesn’t really need to wear the Ray-Bans anymore, so she tugs them off and tucks the earpiece into the neck of her tank top.

He eyes the movement and asks sourly, “They didn’t come with a case?”

“Nope.”

In truth, she took the sunglasses off What’s His Name. The dead gas station attendant. He doesn’t need ‘em anymore and they were brand fuckin’ new. It’s not like she’s gonna let a nice pair of shades like this go to waste.

It’s his fault he’s dead, anyhow. He shouldn’t have tried to get handsy just cause he thought she was all alone and helpless.

She spins his trucker cap backward on her head and reaches for the backpack tucked underfoot. She can feel Ben the Sexy Trucker observing her, maybe with a touch of suspicion, but when she only comes back up with a bag of jalapeño Cheetos, he relaxes again.

Opening the Cheetos, she crosses her legs in the generously-sized passenger seat and wonders if they might be stopping soon so she can stretch her legs and pee. She didn’t get a chance to at the last stop, since the john was _occupied_. This makes her chortle to herself.

“We cross the state line yet?” she queries, holding out the bag in case he wants some.

“Yep. Bout an hour ago.”

He scoops out a handful of Cheetos without taking his eyes off the road. 

For a few minutes, nothing disturbs the peace in the cab but the sounds of happy munching and soft music playing on some oldies station on the radio. Not oldies from the nineties, but old-oldies. Like from the fifties.

“Can uh…can we turn it up?”

He cocks a brow. “You like _The Platters_?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. Yeah. Kind of.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he spins the volume up a bit, and she settles back, humming tunelessly to a song she almost recognizes.

“Where’d your toothpick go?” she teases.

“Spit it out.”

And that’s the extent of their conversation for nearly an hour.

And it’s amazing.

She doesn’t think she’s ever sat in such companionable silence with her next mark.

The sun goes down, and the cab grows cooler. Without a word, Ben rolls up the windows and switches on the heat. He keeps driving though – he has really good concentration – and she wonders if he uses amphetamines or drugs like some truckers do to keep awake so he can drive through the night.

“I been driving since four a.m. Was thinking about stoppin’ for a spot of rest, but I’d hate to put you out.”

 _Hmmm_.

If he’s stopping, then he’ll either sleep in the bed behind their seats in the truck or find a cheap roadside motel. She’s got eighty-six thousand dollars in her backpack, not to mention a good dozen stolen credit cards – the prepaid kind, untraceable - along with some other very valuable shit that won't be easy to replace. A roof over her head might be smart.

Might be nice to have a warm bed and–

“Was plannin’ on gettin’ a room before I picked you up. You’re welcome to bunk with me. If you want.”

She keeps her face impassive like his. But this is no casual proposition. She knows exactly what he’s offering.

“I would…but I…don’t have any money to pay or anything.” She bites her bottom lip and tilts her head just right, sitting up so her tits push out the tiniest bit.

The gesture draws his gaze like a fly to honey, and he slides her a slow glance from head to toe. “I don’t need your money.”

She grins. “Aren’t you scared I’ll cut your throat in your sleep and rob ya blind?”

He grunts a laugh, deep and sort of menacing and absolutely thrilling. The next gaze he gives her is much hotter than the last one, and she decides she wants to know what he sounds like when he comes. 

“Pffft. What are you, a buck fifteen? If that? I got eighty pounds on you at _least_. I’ll take my chances.”

 _Oooh, cocky boy. He thinks he’s scary. That’s cute._ Secretly smug, she decides to let him think bigger is better. For now.

It’s always the big boys who are the easiest to get for just this reason. They think they’re invincible.

True they’re more of a pain in the ass to drag around after they’ve croaked, but this's why it's so much easier to simply lure them to their final resting place before they’re dead. Make them do all the work for her.

She thinks a little fondly of Jimmy, probably still crammed in the gas station outhouse, and the one before that, dead in the orchard from–

“After you fell asleep, I heard on the radio the cops are lookin’ for a killer.”

“Really?” She perks up.

His tongue sweeps out to moisten his lips, but he stays focused on the road. “Yep. Turns out they found a body back at that gas station where you hitched a ride from. Know anything about it?”

“Not a thing.” Her eyes narrow. She peeks at the old CB radio under the dash. He hasn’t touched it that she knows of, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t while she was snoozing. “You say anything to anybody? ‘Bout pickin’ me up?”

“Nope.”

He fishes another toothpick from a little silver case in his front pocket. She’s watching him a helluva lot closer now. He tilts the case her way. “Want one?”

“No thanks.” Time to change the subject. “This sure is a nice rig.”

Now it’s his turn to stiffen just a bit. Not a lot – it’s almost an unnoticeable shift, actually. Imperceptible if a body weren’t looking for anything off. But she’s always looking. And she catches it.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “But it isn’t mine. I’m delivering it for a friend.”

“Oh.”

They’re quiet again for a long time, and she stares out the window, placidly viewing the scenery as the sky darkens into a deep blue-black.

After half an hour or so, he takes an exit and parks the truck in the near-empty lot of a cheap motel with a diner attached.

A partly burned-out sign over the grubby office window indicates “vacan” and Rey’s heart sinks a bit when she sees the diner is closed. Apparently, they only serve breakfast and lunch.

Her stomach growls.

“You hungry, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you hang out in the truck, stay warm, and I’ll go in and get us a room and see if I can’t rustle up some grub?”

“Sounds good.”

She needs to rearrange some of the stuff in her backpack while he’s gone, anyhow.

After ten minutes, he comes out and opens her door and helps her down, not shy at all about putting his hands on her in a familiar way. For once she doesn’t mind. He’s got lovely big hands. Warm. Strong.

When she gets her feet on solid ground, it strikes her how tall he is. 

Another wild flutter snakes through her belly as she cranes her neck to look at him. Under the dingy, buzzing light of the motel sign, his eyes appear black and fathomless. He swaggers close and slides a hand into the back pocket of her cutoffs, and her pulse jumps.

“This ol’ place isn’t too fancy. Just a couple vending machines in the lobby.” He gives her a wolfish smile that makes her toes curl. “I’m afraid all the rooms only have one bed apiece.”

“Oh. I guess we’ll have to share,” she breathes, right on cue. “Don’t worry. I don’t take up much space.”

The way he’s smirking down his long nose is insolent bordering on downright conceited, and it should be against the fuckin' law for anyone to be so good-looking. No doubt about it, he certainly makes her heart pump faster. She traces a finger down the buttons of his flannel and hooks it into the top of his jeans, tugging him forward until his crotch brushes lightly against her belly. Maybe he wants to kiss her. She wonders what he tastes like and if he's any good at it, kissing.

He doesn’t kiss her though, and she likes it. He’s taking his time, even though he knows the endgame, or thinks he does.

“I wonder if you’re the kinda guy who’s noisy when he comes or if you try to be all manly and quiet about it when it happens?”

“I reckon it depends,” he answers, his voice going all soft and gravelly. “I’m sure you’ll be gettin’ an up-close and personal demonstration soon enough.”

Not a shy bone in his big ol’ body. But still a gentleman. How delicious. He’s gonna go down so hard. Ooooh, he won’t even know what hit him.

And _goddamn_ , if that isn’t her favorite part.

When they have no idea.

“I hope you’re a noisy one.”

“Right back atcha, sugar.”

* * *

He grins and has a feeling nobody’s gonna give two shits about any noise, if anyone’s even around to hear anything. This whole place is dead as a doornail, only two other cars in the lot, and one of them belongs to the night manager who is so hard of hearing Ben had to repeat himself four times to ask about food.

"Here's the room key," he says to Rey. "I need to check a few things in the truck and lock it up."

She takes the key and his word at face value. But he doesn’t move his eyes off her, not until she’s finished sashaying her cute little ass across the parking lot. Like she knows he’s watching. And he definitely is.

Once she disappears behind the scuffed door to their room, he makes quick work of checking the body in the lockbox. It’ll keep until morning, and then he’ll get up extra early and throw it in the motel dumpster before breakfast.

When checking into the room, he made a point to mention how he hoped there wouldn’t be any delivery trucks or garbage trucks coming round too early on account of him being a very light sleeper. The night manager helpfully assured him garbage collection happens to be tomorrow, but they come at nine o’clock and the bins are on the other side of the building besides, so it shouldn’t be an issue.

Which is just about perfect. He’ll be long gone by then, and the chances of anyone finding the body until it’s in a landfill are minimal.

Approaching the room, he notices she left the door unlocked and clucks his tongue. Too damn trusting this one.

_Don’t you know this is how the big bad wolf got in, little girl?_

Too late now. She’ll be in for a real awakening right quick. Still. He won’t mind giving her a good hard dicking before he’s done with her. She seems the type who’ll put up a bit of a fight before he finishes her off.

Even so, she’s not a chatty one, and he likes it. Can’t stand how some women constantly yap-yap-yap like they just love the sound of their own voice or maybe because they think filling the silence with incessant babbling is helping somehow.

Not this one. She knows how to stay quiet and let him think.

And when she does talk, she’s sassy. Smart. Not afraid of nothin’, by the look of her.

Maybe he’ll keep her along for company for a while.

Briefly, he wonders if she had anything to do with that gas station attendant and shakes his head, grinning as he pushes open the door to the room.

A sweet little thing like her?

Nah. She couldn’t hurt a fly.


	3. The Alibi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Time Is On My Side, The Rolling Stones](https://open.spotify.com/track/2jaN6NgXflZTj2z9CWcqaP?si=qKjypTJRTV6OA26uNhpKcA)   
>  [(We're Gonna) Rock Around The Clock, Bill Haley & His Comets](https://open.spotify.com/track/5PZf7EZr7GfkOAgeEcsqPa?si=BqhUVAhfSy-py6XIJIRR_g)

# 

# The Alibi

The first thing he does is set his wallet on the rickety table crammed between the bed and the ancient air conditioning unit in the window.

Pleasantly surprised, he finds a plastic sticker advertising pizza delivery in neon yellow, right next to the phone where the night manager said it would be.

He dials and places an order and the voice on the other end of the line promises to have his pizza delivered in about an hour, which he supposes isn’t too bad considering the rural location.

They’re in the middle of nowhere, and he doesn’t have anything in the truck but a few Snapples in the minifridge and a day-old bologna sandwich from a gas station three states ago. His passenger ate most of those Cheetos she brought along, and he’ll be glad for a hot meal.

He was originally planning on grabbing a bite before dumping the body, but once Rey hopped in his truck he didn’t want to stop and risk her running off. He flips the flimsy deadbolt on the door and takes his handcuffs out of his back jeans pocket, looking to stash them within easy reach. For later.

The room is tiny, and the king-size bed takes up most of the floor space. Ben would bet cash money the thing is twenty-five years old if it’s a day.

But the bed is the last thing on his mind once he spies what’s trailed out on the floor leading not-so-subtly to the bathroom. 

A ratty flannel shirt.

A scrap of jean shorts.

Off-white wifebeater that’s seen better days.

…and a cute little hot-pink thong hanging from the knob of the bathroom door. This he plucks up and lifts to his nose, inhaling deeply before stuffing it into his jeans pocket – what a _delightful_ little keepsake it will make – then, he enters the tiny bathroom and finds her in the tub, up to her neck in bubbles and still wearing his purloined First Order cap, which he doesn’t mind at all.

Her raggedy backpack sits under the chipped porcelain wall-mount sink. The pack looks innocuous enough and he doubts she has any weapons, so he decides to play nice for now. He’ll definitely snoop through it… _after_. Maybe find another pair of panties.

“You gonna come on in here with me? Or you gonna make me beg?”

_Oh, now, darlin’. Don’t tempt me._

The tub is on the small side, but a soak sounds real good right about now. And true to her word, she doesn’t take up much room at all.

He takes off his flannel and hangs it on a plastic hook on the back of the door, then seats himself on the lid of the toilet to pull off his boots. The bathroom is run-down like everything else in this shithole, but he’s seen worse.

“Where the hell did you find soap for bubbles?” he grunts, standing and shucking his jeans and t-shirt under her very interested gaze. If her behavior in the parking lot was any indication, he figures she doesn’t need too much in the way of preliminaries, but he gives her a minute to look, and she’s not flinching away – they never do – so he peels off his boxers and lifts his chin.

“Scootch.”

She scoots forward to make room and tells him, “I had some bubble bath in my backpack. From Dagoba Farms.”

“Dagoba?”

“Yeah, I visited there right before you picked me up. It’s where I got my sunglasses. From my friend.”

_Bullshit._

But he doesn’t call her out for lying. 

“Where are you taking the truck to?” she asks.

“Vegas,” he replies. “My boss lives there.”

“Oh.”

The water’s hot, almost too hot, and he groans lightly when he sinks in, tucking a leg to either side of her. She can’t see his face, now, which is fine.

He scoops a few handfuls of water over his hair and face and feels more alert. Again, he appreciates how she just does her thing - _quietly_ \- no need to chatter away. Just good company.

While she’s soaping her arms and splashing his knees with sudsy water, he takes a minute to admire the freckles on her shoulders and the delicate little bumps of vertebrae disappearing up her neck into her chestnut hair. She’s on the thin side, and if she hadn’t run across him, she’d probably be going hungry tonight.

He’d take the trucker cap off her head, but he rather likes the sight of it on her. It rouses something a little possessive in him. That, and knowing he's gonna be the last person who ever fucks her.

_All mine._

He’s tempted to wrap his fingers around her neck and test the fit, but she rests her little hands on his knees and leans back a bit and he’s all kinds of distracted by the pleasant furl of lust coiling in his gut.

There’s nothing like the first time with a new one. Nothing better than making himself wait, building the anticipation and dragging it out for as long as possible, although sometimes he doesn’t have time. Briefly, he debates the merits of staying put for a few days and _really_ putting her through her paces. But then he remembers he has a body he needs to ditch, and it won’t do to stick around.

Especially if–

Especially if there are gonna be _two_ bodies. Hmmm. One body is a cinch to dump, but two?

The idea of bringing her along for the company is growing more appealing by the second. But he's really gonna have to rein himself in and not kill her too quick. Yeah.

Ahh, he does enjoy this part. The honeymoon, he calls it. Sometimes there's fucking. And then the begging. There's _always_ begging. 

“You find anything to eat?” she murmurs, sloshing a washrag through the suds and scrubbing it over his shins, one after the other.

“I ordered some pizza. Be here in an hour.”

“What kind of pizza?”

“A meat combo for me and a Hawaiian for you. Hope you don’t mind pineapple.” Most women like Hawaiian, though he’s all carnivore, himself.

She shudders dramatically, and she glances over a damp, freckled shoulder with a sultry half-smile. “Pineapple? Well shit. I might have to kill you, after all.”

_Not if I kill you first, sweet thing._

Still, she’s flirting hard, and it’s sort of adorable. He gives her an indulgent pout and offers graciously, “Well, then I’ll eat the Hawaiian.”

“I read online that guys who eat pineapple have better-tasting cum. You think that’s true?”

 _Lord, she says the damnedest things._ “I don’t know. But you’re welcome to find out later.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to let ya live. For now.”

She tosses another grin over her shoulder and he licks his chops and gives her his best, panty-dropping smolder, not that she needs it, seeing as she already dropped her panties five minutes ago in the most blatant invitation he’s ever been issued.

Unable to help himself, he turns her head forward again and cups a hand around her throat and squeezes just a bit. It’s a perfect fit like he suspected it would be. Fuck, he wants to really squeeze, _hard_ , but he holds off.

And she giggles. She likes it.

A surprised chortle bursts out of him.

_No fear whatsoever. Ain’t that a wonder?_

"Toss me that rag and I'll scrub your back," he offers, unsure if he's willing to admit to himself just how enchanting she is. She flips the rag over her shoulder, and he scrubs, fascinated and perturbed in equal measures.

His musings are interrupted by a rapid, authoritative knock on the outside door, and he sighs, annoyed.

_Too soon for pizza. And that sounds like a cop. They all have that same damn knock. Fuck. Night manager must've called in my truck. Which means they're lookin' for me._

He stands, dripping, and wraps a scrawny towel around his hips.

“Who’s that?” Rey asks, wide-eyed.

“You stay in here, sweetheart. I’ll deal with it.”

He moves to the door, cursing the fucking night manager and hoping any curious eyes on the other side of the door will see nothing but an innocent one-night hookup in a skeezy motel room.

As anticipated, some red-faced county mountie who looks like he spends too much time sitting on his ass eating donuts in his patrol car and not near enough worrying about his blood pressure is standing outside wearing a semi-belligerent look. His gaze only falters when the man has to look up to meet Ben's eyes. 

Ben puts on a courteous smile, happy he's tall. Boy howdy, it comes in handy sometimes. 

“Can I help you?”

“Ben Solo?”

“Yessir?”

The deputy's name tag says “Wexley” and out of habit Ben memorizes everything about him. Height, stocky build, badge number, license plate number on his patrol car, everything.

“There was an APB on your truck Mr. Solo." _Wexley_ holds up a picture, and Ben blinks at it, furrowing his brow with polite interest, keeping his cool. "A few reports back in New Mexico say this girl got in your truck at the rest stop at Tatooine. She look familiar?”

Ben shakes his head negative and wonders what Deputy Wexley would do if he found out she’s been cooking under the desert sun in the toolbox on the back of his truck all day.

“No, sir.”

“They got witnesses back in New Mexico sayin’ otherwise.”

“Don’t know nuthin’ about that.”

“But you _did_ stop at Tatooine?”

“I sure did. Weren’t nobody else there but for a couple of other truckers and a handful of lot lizards.”

A slender hand snakes around his waist and he feels Rey press up under his arm, still damp from the bath.

“Everything all right, officer?” she asks. She's wearing his flannel and it’s fairly obvious she ain’t wearing a goddamned thing underneath.

The cop clears his throat. “’Scuse me, ma’am. Didn’t realize there were two of ya.” He looks at Ben again. Then Rey.

She leans in, staring at the picture and flashing a healthy show of cleavage that Deputy Wexley doesn’t miss.

“Where’d you say she was spotted?" Rey murmurs. "New Mexico? She kinda looks like me. Maybe the witnesses thought I was her?”

“You been with him since New Mexico? You were in Tatooine?” Wexley sounds doubtful.

“And even before that, sure.” She turns to Ben and tucks a damp lock of hair behind his ear. “Didn’t we stop in New Mexico at that rest stop, babe? With all them cactuses you told me about?”

“Sure did, baby.”

Rey gives the cop a shit-eating grin. “Ben promised to give me a whole tour of the lower forty-eight and teach me an educational fact every time we stop. We’re headed to Vegas next. Sin City. Gonna get up to some sinnin’. We were just about to get an early start, actually. On the sinning.” She winks and the cop turns beet red.

“Oh. Uh. I only stopped by to see if you knew anything about that missing girl,” Wexley blusters, clearly uncomfortable being on the receiving end of a flirtatious gesture. 

Ben smirks. “Well. She ain’t here. Sounds like an honest mix-up.” Rey’s hands are all over him, and she gives his ass a squeeze.

“You two have any ID?” Apparently, Wexley's not quite done butting in.

“Sure! It’s in my backpack,” Rey declares. “I’ll get it!”

“Thank you, miss.”

Ben grabs an ID out of his wallet while Rey skips to the bathroom and back with hers. He reminds himself he'll need to get rid of it later. Shit. She's gonna be extra challenging to cover up once he kills her, now that the law has put the two of them together. If she goes missing too soon after the last one, it could spell trouble. 

After a few minutes of studious examination, Wexley passes back their IDs.

“Either of you got phone numbers?”

Ben shrugs, “Don’t like them cell phones. They give me the willies. I’ll stick to my CB.”

Wexley hums and looks at Rey. “What about you, missy? You got a cell phone?”

“Well, no sir, but the only person I’d ever wanna call is right here.” She gives his pecs a light pat and Ben rolls with it. The why of it – why she’s lying her ass off – is something he means to find out directly. But first…

Wexley mutters something into the radio on his shoulder and gives Ben a look. “Ya’ll are headed to Vegas, eh? Know where you’re stayin’ when you get there? In case there’s questions?”

“Well, I haven’t planned that far ahead yet,” Ben replies with a bit more edge in his voice. Not too hostile. Just enough to sound aggrieved over the untimely and now prolonged interruption. Rey’s doing a fine job of putting her hands all over him like a frisky girlfriend, and Wexley can’t seem to stop ogling her.

But Ben knows if he stays quiet, the awkward silence will be enough to end the conversation. Human nature is nothing if not reliable.

Sure enough, Wexley eventually nods and passes him a card. “Contact me if anything jogs your memory about the girl. Sorry to disturb you folks. Have a nice night.”

Ben keeps an eye on him until he's back in his car and has pulled out of the parking lot, not taking any chances Wexley might want to hang back and sniff around his truck.

But once he's sure Wexley's gone, he steps out the door and glares toward the motel office. The blinds flip shut in a hurry when he sends a sarcastic one-finger salute to the night manager who was obviously watching the whole show.

_Fuckin’ nosy asshole’s lucky I already got something to keep me busy tonight or I'd go on in there and start peeling his hide off._

“Goddamn, I thought that pig was never gonna shut up,” Rey gripes after he closes the door and bolts the worthless deadbolt.

“Me, too. Was about ready to–” Ben bares his teeth and makes a wringing motion with his hands.

“I know, right?”

“Why’d you lie?” He's curious. He can’t even be pissed off, seeing as she just gave him a bulletproof alibi.

“Why’d _you_ lie?” she returns, clearly unperturbed over the fact he was just accused of having a missing girl in his truck. 

Instead of answering, he just hums and drops his towel.

“I guess we could find somethin’ to do for thirty minutes or so,” he rumbles, herding her back to the bed. Sex might be a good way to blow off some tension, especially after that cop came sniffing around.

She jumps on the bed, laughing and bouncing lightly, bending so they’re at eye level.

“You think you’re so big and tough. But look at me. I’m taller.” She pushes his shoulder and he prods her shoulder back.

“Did you just _push_ me?” she gasps in mock outrage, balancing on the springy bed. “What the heck is this?”

“Well, this–” he hooks a hand under one leg and flips her onto her back “–is called foreplay, sugar.”

She laughs up at him from her sprawl, legs parted just enough so he can catch a view of slim thigh and then some. He’s never wanted to pounce on something so bad.

He crawls on top of her and her stomach emits an uproarious growl.

“All I ate today was Cheetos. I can’t wait for pizza!” she exclaims, wrapping an arm around his neck. 

“Pizza’ll be here in half an hour or so. And then I’ll take ya for breakfast in the mornin’. That diner next door has pie.”

“Mmmmmhhhh,” she agrees. “That sounds yummy.”

He ducks his chin and sets his lips over hers, soft and gentle so she doesn’t startle.

And she’ll be very startled if she ever gets an inkling of his thoughts.

_Cuff her. Knock her senseless. Maybe fuck her once for good measure while she’s out. And then when she wakes up…well, that’s when things are gonna get real fun._

Carefully, he pushes his tongue in her mouth. She’s warm and sweet and eager as all get out, and he rolls her more firmly beneath him, grinding his naked body against her silky flesh, sort of losing himself in how good her soft little body feels yielding under his, so perfect he groans a bit and kisses her some more. She tastes like sunshine and toothpaste and just the tiniest hint of Cheetos. And warm woman. 

She smells like heaven. 

Fucking delicious.

She nips at his bottom lip, and it stings. He pulls back, scowling.

“Ow!” he growls. "That wasn't very nice."

But she only leans up and does it again, dammit. He manacles one of her wrists in his fist and grips her chin with his other hand. 

“You wanna play dirty, I’ll play fuckin’ dirty, sweetheart."

Something sparks in her eyes and she hisses, "Ooooh, let's play, daddy."

"Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he snarls in his deadliest voice. But the angle he has her pinned at is off and one of her arms is free. She squirms and he shifts to snag a handful of hair and yank - _hard_ \- until fire lights her eyes.

He dips his head for a savage kiss.

And just when he’s reconsidering knocking her senseless, something rather painful jabs into the meat of his ass.

His grip falters and he blinks. “The fuck?” 

“Tranquilizer dart,” she whispers, holding his gaze like a snake charmer. “Stole a whole bunch of ‘em. Back in North Texas.”

He tries to reach back and get the damned thing out, but now their position is working in her favor, and she clutches him around the middle with her thighs so he can’t–

… _got the jump on me…_

“…you…crafty…little… _bitch_ …” he slurs. The edges of his vision are going all fuzzy.

“Nighty-night, big boy.”

She ducks to the side, so he doesn’t crack her skull when he collapses on top of her. And just in the nick of time, too.

The last thing he hears is another knock at the motel room door.

Huh. Pizza’s here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, inevitably, the FBI agent assigned to personally monitor my computer and very interesting google searches probably learned this right along with all of you today:
> 
> In trucker talk, a “county mountie” is a Sheriff’s deputy. “Lot lizards” are prostitutes commonly found at rest stops.
> 
> I also learned all about the anatomy of tranquilizer darts, how ketamine reacts in the human body, and just when exactly rigor mortis sets in and for how long. 
> 
> Never let it be said I won’t google the most batshit insane questions to keep things authentic. 😉


	4. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Magic Carpet Ride, Steppenwolf](https://open.spotify.com/track/4c4jJJoaiY21t2TyRZgdWS?si=xg6H37L7R8SARbAm1QeqiA)   
>  [Straight Shooter, The Mamas & The Papas](https://open.spotify.com/track/5m63cyB8bzbRSEs53K8CxF?si=025G712eSa-EgweMhS8Ywg)

# The Plan

Canned laughter from the old-fashioned box TV on the ramshackle dresser wakes him first.

_Tranquilizer dart. She stole…_

Something jostles the end of the bed and catches his eye. Red and black.

_My flannel._

He’s on his back. Can’t sit up.

He narrows his eyes. He can’t see her surroundings.

Just her.

Blearily, he tries to focus his vision. She’s giggling and bouncing lightly on the bed. Watching TV and eating pizza and drinking a Snapple.

 _Fuck_.

Only one place she could’ve found that – the motel vending machines only distribute cans of off-brand soda in weird flavors.

Which means she got that Snapple from his truck, goddammit.

Shit, he hopes she didn’t figure out how to open the lockbox on the back.

He’d hate to have to kill her just when she’s starting to get interesting. She glances back at him and doesn’t seem all too surprised he’s awake.

He has a feeling whatever she shot him with wore off quick, although not quick enough if she had time to paw through the truck.

“You look like you been rode hard and put to bed wet,” she informs him around an enormous mouthful of pizza.

_Is that my meat combo? Bitch._

He tries to sit up again and realizes she’s cuffed him to the bed. With his own cuffs.

He knows they’re his because not many people carry Smith and Wesson nickel-plated, long chain, double-locking handcuffs around for run of the mill, day-to-day business.

Now on a good day, he can slip out of a pair of cuffs if they’re sloppily applied. But this little lady knows her stuff.

And she double-locked the fuckin’ things.

“Turn me loose?”

“Nope.”

“Lend me a hairpin?”

“Nope,” she throws over her shoulder, eyes glued on some obnoxious TV show that’s not helping his splitting headache. “Don’t try to sit up too fast, or you’ll hurl your guts out.”

He grunts and watches her take another huge bite of pizza.

_Shit, is she gonna eat the whole fuckin’ thing?_

He glances to where he left his wallet on the table. It’s still there, but it’s been moved, so obviously he paid for it. He should get some. “You gonna share some of that with me, sugar?”

“Still callin’ me sugar?”

“I guess I still think you’re sweet.” This doesn't get a reaction, so he gripes, “What the fuck was in that dart?”

“Ketamine, I think. Hope you don’t have a heart condition.”

 _Well, I might have developed a very recent one_ , _at that._

But he doesn’t say this aloud and instead rattles the cuffs against the headboard and glowers at her. She’s lucky she cuffed him, or he’d be on her already. She doesn’t look to be too afraid of his scariest stare, though. And she should be.

Eventually, he grumbles, “’m hungry.” He tries to sound coaxing. “At least gimme a bite?”

If he can get her over here, closer, that might be something.

She licks the grease off her fingers and picks up a slice of Hawaiian. With a know-it-all smirk, she straddles his belly – fuck, she’s still not wearing underwear – and dangles the limp slice just out of reach.

“Who’s Kylo Ren?”

 _Shit, fuck_. She found the key to the glove compartment on the truck. Goddammit, now he _really_ has to kill her. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from cussing and tries to think, refusing to give her the satisfaction of stretching to reach for a bite of cold pizza.

Her mouth purses into an exaggerated scowl and she squirms distractingly against his groin. “You should eat somethin’, Papa Bear. Gonna need your energy. For _later_.”

Unable to help himself, he growls and tugs the handcuffs again, this time bumping his hips into her until she shrieks, “Ooohh! We got a live one!”

“Turn me loose, sweetheart,” he cajoles. “I won’t hurt ya.” _Much._

Actually, that’s a fuckin’ lie if ever a lie was told out loud. His fingers are positively itching to get around her throat and squeeze until that taunting smirk wipes itself off her face.

She laughs. “You look like you wanna slap the shit out of me. I’m not stupid.”

Her eyes blaze into his and she tosses the pizza over her shoulder before leaning close and rubbing on him like a cat.

She kisses his neck and collarbone and works her way down his pecs, then lower, and the softest moan escapes him when she dips her tongue into his navel.

“Mmmmhhh,” she sighs, her eyes sparkling up into his with such sweet mischief he almost cracks a smile. “You’re fun to play with.”

That’s exactly it, he realizes. She’s toying with him the way a kitten plays with a bug. Right before she eats it.

She shimmies back up and straddles him again, and he can feel the heat between her legs riding low against his pelvis.

Fuck, it’s making him hard.

Then she pulls her thong out of his front flannel pocket and lifts a brow. “I found this in a place where it shouldn’t a been. You’re a kinky one. Stealing a lady’s underwear isn’t very nice.” She tickles the lacy thong over his face and down his chest with a sultry frown on her face. “You gonna tell me who Kylo Ren is? And why he’s runnin’ from the law?”

“Well, that depends, sugar.”

“On what?”

“On how sturdy this fuckin headboard is.”

With a massive heave, he takes hold of the cuffs' chain in either hand and yanks, _hard_ , pulling the headboard a good inch away from the wall. It doesn’t free him on the first try, but the motion is enough to bounce her off-kilter until she sprawls across his chest.

“You play nice, or I’m gonna stick you with somethin’ worse than one a them tranquilizer darts!” she warns.

But he does it again, harder, and he hears a definite crack as one of the slats on the headboard loosens. Yeah. Everything in this shitty place is flimsy as fuck. 

He gives her a wicked grin. “Race ya.”

She clambers off him, clearly intending to go for her backpack full of god-knows-what, and he breaks the slat on the headboard off, lunging for a skinny leg before she gets too far.

She’s quick and wriggles out of his grasp but not fast enough to evade his second lunge. This is one of those times when brute strength has a definite advantage, and he lets his momentum crash them to the floor between the bed and the wall. He lands on top and doesn’t hesitate to press the chain on his cuffs across her throat. He does like the longer chain for choking, even if he doesn't care to be the one wearing the cuffs.

“Oh, now you’re fucked,” he mutters with sinister glee. “Fucked double for snooping through my truck.”

She goes very still, which is good, but she doesn’t have that look in her eyes like the others get, the look that indicates an initial comprehension of how utterly screwed they are.

It makes him pause.

“Is that a promise?” she coughs against the faint pressure on her windpipe and arches her hips into his. She’s naked below the waist and he’s not wearing a damned thing but the handcuffs.

He eases up on her throat a touch and for some crazy reason bends to kiss her.

_Just a taste._

But a warm little hand slips between them and gropes at his _very_ interested dick and he isn’t quite sure how it’s happening, but it definitely _is_ happening…

He ratchets up the heat and kisses her with a bit more aggression while she fondles him until he’s hard and straining against her hand.

“This is what you want? You want this dick?”

He lifts a bit to give her room to stroke him some more, not taking his eyes off hers – if she’s gonna try anything, he’ll snap her head clean off, but all she does is moan a little and all he can think about is the way her pussy feels, wet, like hot velvet as she guides him between her legs and he nudges inside. It takes a good four or five pushes to get all the way in because she’s so goddamn tight. He moves his hands up, caging her head with his forearms before he pulls out and slams in all at once.

“Oh!” she cries, clawing at his back.

His mouth finds hers - he fully intends to steal every breath of air out of her lungs - and he shoves his way in again, invading until she melts. Overcome by an animal desire to mark his territory, he scrapes his beard over her mouth, already turning the delicate skin around her lips red. He’s not nearly as harsh as he should be – and she deserves a good roughing up, for sure – but she tastes like spicy pizza and _her_ and the way her hot little tongue sweeps against his is delicious. All he truly cares about for the moment is sinking his throbbing erection back into her soft, wet heat over and over again and watching her breath catch every time he hits deep.

She wraps her legs around his waist so she can lever against him, too, and he gives her a few more jarring thrusts, moving them across the floor a few inches with each push.

Her hand is still down there, between them, and he sneaks a glance to watch himself driving between her legs while she strokes her clit, clearly intent on getting an orgasm out of the deal. He can’t even be mad about it, she’s so damned sexy.

“…that feel good, baby?”

To his surprise, she babbles eagerly, “ _Mmmmhhh_ , yes, fuck yes, don’t stop…feels so good…oh, god…”

And frankly, this just makes him want to try even harder to break her the fuck in half.

“Lemme see your tits,” he mouths against her face.

He feels her slide her hands up and fumble at the buttons on his flannel, pulling the halves apart so he can see those perfectly shaped breasts with the loveliest pink nipples, pretty much what he's been thinking about since the minute she climbed into his truck. Exquisite.

“Very nice,” he purrs in approval, delivering a few good hard thrusts to watch ‘em bounce.

Ardently, he bends and sucks a bruise into the side of her neck and tugs an earlobe between his teeth, whispering, “Fuck, your little cunt is so… _scorching_ …hot…you gonna come for me?”

“Don’t stop,” she orders, straining against him. He pumps his hips again, and she gasps, breathless, eyes locked on his.

“Then answer me, baby,” he rumbles. “Are. You. Gonna. _Come_?”

“…yes…”

“You like that?” He gives her a nice, steady series of thrusts and jerks on her hair and crushes her into the floor, rubbing his beard scruff over every inch of skin he can get to. 

_"...yes!"_

They’re working up a sweat now, and he pumps faster, caught up in building a near-frantic pace as he feels that delicious prelude to an orgasm twisting in his gut.

He grunts against her throat with every surge and she moans in answer every time. And for a few gorgeous minutes it’s just that, the two of them on the floor of some shitty motel room fucking and moaning and sliding against each other and her rubbing her clit and tensing up and gripping him...

“You gonna come? Oh, fuck, _fuck_ …you are…” A high-pitched wail comes out of her and he slams home with more force. “You want this dick? Yeah?”

“Oh, _fuck_ , yes!” she hollers loud enough to wake the dead.

“Yeah? Tell me how bad you want it.” He really _needs_ to know because as much as he's taking what he wants, he has a sneaking feeling she's doing the exact same thing to him - _taking_ him - and he can’t shift his eyes off her face, so desperate and pretty and demanding and fierce…and it’s a bit surprising because he usually doesn’t give two shits if they come, but somehow, with her, he _wants_ her to, wants her to shatter…wants to know what it feels like…what she looks like when it happens.

She’s different. Special.

“Fuck me, _fuck_ me…” she chants, her fingernails digging into his arms and shoulders. 

He’s gasping and sweating and pretty much reduced to inarticulate grunts when she falls apart, moaning and clenching and squeezing, her soft flesh dragging at his until every particle of his consciousness floods with pleasure, and he tenses and growls low and deep and finally lets go in a few endless spurts, coming hard enough to make his vision white out. 

She quivers and gasps beneath him and strokes a lock of sweaty hair from his forehead, a look of utter shock on her face.

He can feel his mouth hanging open as he slips out of her, stunned.

“I got rug burn on my ass, thanks to you,” she informs him tartly. She looks right pissed off about it, if the blaze in her eyes means a damned thing.

He grins. “Well, I’ve got rug burn on my knees. _And_ elbows.”

And to his everlasting fascination, her mouth pulls into an unwilling smile. “Next time I’m on top.”

“We’ll see.”

After a minute or two, he climbs up a bit awkwardly, so sated and bemused he doesn’t even question it when she mumbles something about fetching the key.

He doesn’t even get up and follow her, he just sits there on the bed like a stooge when she saunters back with the key in her outstretched hand. He doesn’t even bother to notice her other hand is behind her back until it’s too late, and she’s already climbed into his lap.

He feels a familiar sting, only in his neck this time.

_Fuckin’ bitch got me again–_

“See you later, alligator.”

And when he wakes up next time, naked and very much alone, his hands are cuffed behind him.

He can’t smile because his mouth has been stuffed with something that he suspects might be that lacy pink thong of hers and taped shut with the duct tape she obviously dug out of his truck.

But he wants to. Smile, that is.

After all, she did leave the key on the pillow next to his head, right where he can see it.

_Oh, yeah. I definitely have a heart condition._

_I think I might be in love._

* * *

It’s still early – before sunrise – by the time he finds her in the motel diner, but she’s already ordered breakfast and slugged down three cups of coffee with three creams and two sugars apiece.

Maybe her heart skips a beat or two at the sight of that big, sexy body sliding into the booth opposite her, casual as can be. Her cheeks warm up at the memory of him giving her a rather mind-bending orgasm last night, but she keeps her expression neutral. He’s still got some explaining to do, as far as she’s concerned. Even if he did make her come harder than she’s ever come in her life.

She was beginning to think he wasn't going to pick up on her hint with the handcuff key and meet her here for the breakfast he promised to buy her.

“What took ya so long?” she grouses by way of a greeting.

“Had to get rid of a body.” He says it deadpan, but she wonders if that’s what was in the locked toolbox bolted to the back of his truck. “How ‘bout you, sugar? I thought you split.”

“Nah, I just had some business to take care of.”

“Business?”

“Needed to get a gun.” She delivers the explanation as deadpan as he did his, and his eyes snap with dark humor.

“What kind of gun?” he croons, his voice husky with condescension.

_Such a guy question. Like if I can’t answer with all the specs, then what? I’m not allowed to blow your pretty head off?_

“A Smith and Wesson hammerless .38.”

He lifts a brow. “Airweight?”

“Yep.”

He nods. “Good gun for woman. Light, easy to hide, packs a punch, and a revolver’s always less likely to misfire. And no hammer means it won’t snag on your jeans when you pull it.”

“Yah. I know.” _That’s why I stole it, sugar-dick._

“But it’s only good if you’re fast enough.” He sneers as if he knows he’s being a cocky, patronizing bastard. “You steal some bullets too?”

“Yeah,” she snaps, aggrieved he would assume she’s dumb enough to steal a gun with no bullets. Especially after she handed his ass to him last night. Twice. “Might be using them later. We’ll see.”

“Huh.” He doesn’t look too worried. "Where’d ya get it from?”

“Somewhere.” _Like I’m telling you shit._

“What about them clothes?”

His whiskey-brown eyes crawl over her outfit, which she also stole. A pair of jeans from the Goodwill bin back in town and an old khaki bomber jacket, too. It only has one rip along the shoulder seam and she’s planning on sewing it up once she’s back in the truck and they’re on the road.

Just then, the waitress approaches with a huge tray loaded down with Rey’s breakfast, and she holds back on further conversation in favor of getting some real food in her system.

“You always order like it’s your last meal?” he quips. Ignoring him, she starts chowing down, and he turns to the hovering waitress. “I’ll have the steak and eggs. Rare and over-easy…with sourdough toast, a side of bacon, burnt to a crisp, and coffee, black. And a slice of that lemon meringue pie over there.”

“That’s some last meal yourself,” Rey murmurs around a mouthful of chicken-fried steak. "Did you miss dinner last night?"

She can't help needling him a bit. 

He licks his lips slow, drawing her attention to the lush fullness and reminding her of the way his beard feels scuffing against her neck. She shivers. She’s gonna have marks for a week from that.

"You didn't run off like I thought you would." He asks like he already knows the answer, like he can read her mind, “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” she retorts.

His mouth curls into an arrogant sneer. “I thought we already talked about this. I’m twice your size.” He gives her a look hot enough to singe her eyebrows off. “And I figure once I have you at my mercy, well…I could probably just take anything I want.”

“Not if I knock you out again, first,” she reminds him, punctuating the comment by jabbing her toast in his direction. “I believe I’m in two for two. Not to mention I have a gun now.”

“You’re not gonna shoot me.”

“Well I guess I haven’t decided, yet!” she bites out with a little belligerence.

He just shakes his head in patent disbelief. Their waitress comes back and sets a cup of coffee in front of him along with an enormous slice of pie.

“Your order will be up directly, mister,” she simpers. “Thought this would tide you over until then.”

“Well, thank you very much–” he makes a point of reading her name tag, “–Amilyn.”

In a flash of jealousy, Rey entertains the brief fantasy of clawing the woman’s eyes out of her head before reminding herself that Ben, or Kylo Ren, or whoever the fuck he is, isn’t even looking at the middle-aged blonde anymore.

No, the whole of his attention is directed back on Rey. It would be almost unsettling if she weren’t so equally absorbed with him.

“You still goin’ to Vegas?”

“Yep.”

She nods but doesn’t say another word, just picks at her breakfast until his food arrives.

They eat in companionable silence and he puts away most of his meal with elegant efficiency. She realizes she ordered a bit too much and waits for him to finish, pondering her next move.

_I wonder if I could talk him into making a tiny little detour on the way to Vegas…_

He sits back and pats his flat stomach, drawing her attention like a moth to the flame. But she keeps her expression cool. Never one to waste food, she watches politely while Amilyn boxes up their leftovers and Ben pays the bill.

Then she saunters out to the truck and climbs on in like this was the plan all along. 

She still isn't sure why she didn't just put him down when she had the golden opportunity. She just knows she didn't want to.

Ben doesn’t say anything about her presumption of continuing on with him, just points out that her leftovers will keep better in the mini fridge in the sleeping compartment behind the seats.

It doesn’t even occur to her that this distraction might be exactly what he’s waiting for.

Not until a sickly-sweet scented bandanna presses over her nose and mouth and one of his massive hands wraps around her neck in a not-quite-painful squeeze.

_Aw, shit. Chloroform._

The last thing she hears is him muttering into her hair, “You’re not the only one with your own little personal pharmacy on hand, sweetheart.”

“Wha–?”

“You shouldn’t have let me get loose in the first place. That was real fuckin' stupid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. In case anyone is worried about this fic becoming a major distraction from my other current projects, House of The Rising Sun, in particular, I would like to assure you I'm working on the next chapter for that fic next.
> 
> The updates for this story have been coming pretty hard and fast (pun intended), and might slow down a tinge, but I've got a good start on this tale and frankly, it's way too much fun and I don't want to lose momentum. 
> 
> As for my other WIPs...I've seen a few of you asking about Cake and a few others and I have moved Cake into a hidden collection for now, so I can work on it with less distraction. But please believe I do intend to finish up SEVERAL other WIPs over the next couple of weeks/months. 
> 
> So stay with me, and have faith...and most of all THANK YOU for the love, comments, kudos, tweets, and all of it. You all just make me so happy to be part of this fandom. <3


	5. The Bait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning on Rey's backstory:** There's a brief mention of sexual abuse of minors, including her. No details whatsoever. I'm not planning on going into detail on it in this fic, just bare bones enough to provide some context.
> 
> Also, reminder to check the updated tags. ;)
> 
> [Good Lovin', The Young Rascals](https://open.spotify.com/track/0XnhQGfqfi5CnZXcONJuI5?si=--Ogh3dgSLKD9S41FVNnVg)  
> [Great Balls of Fire, Jerry Lee Lewis](https://open.spotify.com/track/7xe3EQCvXnx6Q0zs41Y65n?si=rZAUpT8gT-q6wVf8oMtG1Q)

# The Bait

She bounces along in the back of the truck for a good five minutes before realizing she’s naked and hogtied. But not gagged.

_Fucker chloroformed me._

As she discovered last night, after she found the keys to his truck and went out and poked around a bit, there’s a fold-out bed behind the seats, the kind they have in camping trailers with cheap cushions that can be a sort of couch or a bunk if needed.

The bed is small and not terribly comfortable. Given his size, she figures this explains why he’s partial to cheap motel rooms. Bigger beds. And running water.

“I have to pee.”

He’s listening to the radio and the partition between this little living space and the seats is pulled back, but she can’t see if he heard her.

She wonders if she should just piss all over his bed. He’d never get the smell out of these cheap foam cushions and it would serve him right.

But to her surprise, a minute later he pulls off the freeway and drives along a quiet state road for about ten minutes or so before stopping.

“Where are we?” she mumbles when he crowds into the back with her.

The inevitable toothpick hangs between his lips, and his eyes have gone all flat and cold.

“Takodana State Park, Arizona. Bout a hundred and fifty miles from Vegas.”

She watches him pull a five-gallon bucket from the upper bunk and set it on the floor between him and the bed.

“Try again!” she snaps. “I’m not pissing in that.”

“All right,” he says nonchalantly. “Then you can piss the bed and lie in it for the next couple hours, I guess.”

He puts the bucket back and turns to leave her, apparently so she can get on with pissing the bed.

“Wait! Okay. Okay, I’ll take the bucket. God, you’re an asshole.”

He doesn’t say anything, just puts the bucket back and pulls a wicked-looking hunting knife.

 _Shit._ She found it in the truck last night and immediately appropriated the damn thing.

Which means he already went through her backpack and _re_ -appropriated it.

He keeps his mouth shut, but his eyes are glowing now. Like the devil’s. He's furious. 

An electric zing whispers down her spine.

“I’ll cut your legs loose, but if you try anything, and I mean _anything_ ,” he drawls, “I’ll chop off your pinky and make ya eat it.”

She believes him, and something tells her this isn’t the first time he’s threatened to do that to someone.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. She really does have to pee, and she prefers to keep her fingers attached. “Fine. Whatever.”

He cuts her legs free and hoists her over the bucket since her hands are still tied. She briefly entertains spitting in his sneering face but figures that might qualify as “trying something” so she holds back. Barely. 

When she’s done, he tosses her facedown onto the bed again and trusses her ankles up, although not in a hogtie this time, which is nice because that position isn’t terribly comfortable.

“No toilet paper, so I guess you’ll have to drip dry, sugar,” he taunts, slapping her on the butt and pretty much instantly killing her good mood.

_I’m gonna make you bleed for that._

He shuffles around and takes the bucket outside, returning a minute later, presumably having emptied it. But instead of climbing back into the driver’s seat, he squats next to the bed, so huge he takes up every square inch of space, observing her for a minute.

Gruffly, he asks, “Why didn’t ya kill me? Last night?”

“What makes you think I’m a killer?”

Something dark flickers behind his hooded gaze and she chases it, almost _recognizes_ it, even as he snorts, “It takes one to know one.”

_I fucking knew it._

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, psycho,” she sputters, heart racing.

“Yes, you fuckin’ do. You think I’m a moron and can’t put two and two together? I been listening to the news all morning. The gas station? Dagoba Farms? They found a body there, too.”

She huffs.

“They’re looking for a killer. A loner. Been on the loose from Florida to New Mexico, near as they can figure. FBI says he might be making a beeline for somewhere out West, by all appearances. Likes to take personal souvenirs every time they off someone."

"Souvenirs?"

"Jimmy Biggs' mama was cryin' about it to some reporter, how his brand new Ray Bans went missing after they found him dead, and he never let them things outta his sight since he got 'em last week. Papers already nicknamed the killer. Callin' him the Scavenger. Only I don’t think it’s a _him_ at all. Is it, sweetheart?”

His toothpick flips back and forth like the tongue of a snake. Mesmerizing.

“You gonna turn me in?”

“Nah. I got plans for you.”

“You gonna kill me?” she finally asks.

“Dunno. Maybe later. I reckon I got some payback to take outta your hide first, for them tranquilizer darts. And the snoopin’.” He stares at her mouth for a good long while, so she stares back.

“It’s cold back here.”

At first, she thinks he’s planning on ignoring her when he stands up, but he only reaches into the overhead compartment again and pulls out a raggedy wool blanket, tucking it around her as gentle as can be.

“Do we have to go straight to Vegas?”

“Where else we gonna go?”

“Jakku, Utah.”

“Why?”

“That’s where I was headed. Jakku.”

“I know of it. A real little shitstain of a town. Why you headed there?”

She doesn’t particularly want to say out loud, but…she wants him to know. No. She _needs_ him to know.

It makes no sense whatsoever. None. But he’d get it, he’d understand, if he'd just _listen_.

“I have business there. In Jakku. Personal business. If…if you take me there and let me…finish what I started…I’ll go with you to Vegas. I’ll let you do whatever the fuck you want after that. I just really, really have to get back to Jakku.”

“You’re not in much of a position to bargain, sweetheart, so I suppose you’re gonna go wherever I say you’re goin’,” he informs her.

It’s true. Even her eighty-six thousand dollars and the rest of her tranquilizer darts and her brand-new Ray-Bans and her Smith and Wesson are all his if he decides to off her. Right now, she’s fucked six ways to Sunday. But he hasn't outright said no. 

“It’s less than a hundred miles from here.”

“Sure. As the crow flies. But I got my own shit to deal with. Don’t have time to go haring off to bumfuck Jakku.”

“It wouldn’t take more than half a day, tops!” she argues.

“Except we’d have to make a small detour to get there.”

“Detour?”

“On account of the Grand-fucking-Canyon being between us and there. Maybe you heard of it? It’s kinda big.”

Shit. Geography was never her best subject in school.

"It'll take us all day just to get there. Then we'd need what? A half a day or more to take care of your business? If it's even possible? Then a whole 'nuther day or more on top a that to get to Vegas."

Okay, maybe he's right. But that dark _thing_ gleams behind his whiskey eyes again, and she catches it this time.

“If you have a score to settle, _Kylo_ , I make real good bait. And I’m scrappy as hell in a fight. I’ll help you.”

"I don't need your-"

Awkwardly, she rolls and shuffles forward. He’s not moving away, and before he does, she leans up and breathes a hot, open-mouthed kiss against the bulge in his jeans.

She pulls back and glances up, but the face looking down at her is a mask of stone.

He cocks his head and squats down again. He’s not gonna let it go.

“That’s why you lied to that cop. You were using me as cover.”

She won’t deny it. “Just as much as you were using me.” 

_I could use you. Ain't never thought I'd want help, but I could..._

Not to mention, if she can talk him into taking her to Jakku, make him trust her, well, then she can just take him out after that and be done with this whole sorry mess.

He’s got muscles for days and those could come in right handy when she exterminates that piece of shit Unkar Plutt. Plutt is built like a gorilla on steroids. But with Ben, or Kylo, helping her, well, that gives her options she wouldn’t have considered otherwise.

“I wanna know more about this _business_ of yours. You tell me all of it so there’s no surprises if’n I say yes.” His eyes drill into hers, penetrating and unforgiving black. She knows on instinct if she lies to him now, he’ll dump her body at the next stop.

“It’s my old foster dad. He weren’t all that friendly, except for when he _was_ , if you catch my meanin’.”

He nods once, short and abrupt, so she goes on, “Didn’t much have the muscle to fight him off most days, but he liked his girls on the young side, anyhow.”

Ben’s left eyelid twitches, and she takes it as an indication to continue. “Once he got bored, he’d sell 'em to his cult-friend, Teedo. Teedo had a few wives already but they seemed to disappear at a regular rate, and he was always lookin’ for a new one. He liked ‘em already _broken in_. My birthday came round, only I didn’t much care to get married at sixteen. So, I ran away. But I didn’t forgive. And I don’t forget.”

She can see he’s thinking and thinking hard. Evaluating her story, considering helping her. Her pulse races at the idea he might. Beyond getting revenge, she honestly doesn't give a shit what happens. 

“How long ago was it? You even know if he’s still there?”

Damn. She has no clue, and this is her biggest worry by far. “Was about five years ago," she admits with a reluctant scowl.

“That’s a long time.”

“He ain't gonna change.” Rage burns at the back of her throat and she glares furiously up at him. “They never do.”

“That may be so. But I don’t trust ya, sweetheart. Twice shy, and all that.”

She lowers her eyes to half-mast and stares at his crotch before dragging her gaze suggestively back to his again.

“Aren’t you even gonna give me a chance to change your mind?” She licks her lips and catches the glint of his hunting knife again from the corner of her eye.

He sneers. “What are you gonna give me that I couldn’t just fuckin’ _take?”_

She pokes her tongue between her teeth and licks her lips. 

“I’ll suck it. And swallow every drop. Here and now. And again, once my _business_ is concluded to my satisfaction.”

A low chuckle of disbelieving amusement rumbles from his chest but his eyes sparkle with lust. They both know for a fact if he ever tries to stick anything in her mouth without her permission she’s gonna snap it right the fuck off.

_Gotcha. Hook, line, and sinker._

He spits his toothpick to the side.

“All right. Sure,” he croons. “So long as you know the stakes.”

_Right._

_Don’t hurt him, or he’ll stab that big ol’ knife in your eye. Got it._

He unzips his jeans and sits her up on the bed.

“Mind those teeth, now, y’hear?” he grunts, pulling his cock free and stroking the silky tip down her cheek before slipping it into her open mouth.

“Mmmmhhh,” she moans, sliding her tongue over him, pressing it against the thick vein on the underside of his shaft until his breathing quickens. He's warm and smooth and she traces her tongue along the tip of him, sucking down a few salty drops of precum. 

He hums in approval and a rush of heat swoops into her belly. One hand grips her hair and the other jabs the blade of his knife none too gently under her jaw while he works her head up and down, deepening his thrusts until he’s hitting the back of her throat.

All she has to do is slobber all over him and not lose her balance and eventually choke down a load of cum. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

But his soft masculine huffs combine with her own obscene gagging and the sounds they’re making together are getting her wet. At some point he’s lost the knife in favor of sliding a warm palm over her naked chest, pinching her nipple until it tightens and she groans. This seems to _really_ do the trick and his thrusting gets faster, less controlled.

His grunts become louder until he’s biting out “Fuck!” every other breath and tugging on her hair and glaring down at her so ferociously she’s gonna come just from the look on his face.

It’s _there_ , that elusive darkness, and she can’t take her eyes away.

She moans again and he gasps, and she holds his shocked, heated stare and hums, long and loud, and his eyes flutter closed and his head falls back. He grips her head with both hands and shudders and spurts cum down her throat. She chokes on it, doing her best to swallow him down as promised, even though for a few glorious seconds, he’s defenseless as hell. But she'll be good. She _is_ good. He liked that, what she just did. She can tell.

He smacks his lips when he pulls out, leaving a stringy trail from her mouth to his dick. He’s panting hard and so is she, and he almost fondly brushes his thumb over her bottom lip, wiping away the mess he made, since she can’t because her hands are tied.

“Well. That was quite a sales pitch, sugar,” he murmurs. But instead of agreeing to take her to Jakku, he just tucks himself back into his jeans and shoves her onto her back, tugging the blanket over her again before clambering into the driver’s seat. The truck engine rumbles to life.

She drifts asleep to the sound of oldies music on the radio, still exhausted from being up all night chasing down her gun and clothes and dealing with… _stuff_.

Other than to let her pee again and give her half a Snapple and feed her a few bites of cold leftover chicken fried steak, he doesn’t say a word or stop driving. She has no idea where they’re going, since she can only see a sliver of bright blue sky through the windshield.

She dozes off again, figuring she has a fifty-fifty chance of waking up alive. Not bad odds.

Not great. But not the worst she’s ever faced.

But eventually, she does wake up. The light of the sky through the windshield has changed from vivid blue to rosy gold. She can’t tell where they are from that alone, but she immediately recognizes the scent of the breeze coming through the cracked windows, warm and dusty and very familiar.

That old scent of helpless, hopeless desperation. 

_Jakku._

_We’re here._

And deep inside, that _something_ , that same, familiar, indefinable darkness she caught in his eyes earlier, rears its head in her. Awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, I know. I'm a lying LIAR who can only LIE from my LIE HOLE. Apparently. 
> 
> I totally whipped this up today instead of working on House of the Rising Sun. Bwwwhahahahaa. 
> 
> What are ya gonna do? *winks*


	6. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hello, I Love You, The Doors](https://open.spotify.com/track/3bWGaqVeYKMlLss40mPgNn?si=70GrzjXXQGCj-cabuvarTg)   
>  [Wake Up Little Susie, The Everly Brothers](https://open.spotify.com/track/7mVbL1b8HC1rW4Jle6ypG3?si=TwD66-xsRhSPtqT5mZ-R9g)

Amazing artwork by [@atlantieislander](https://twitter.com/alantieislander)!

# The Deal

She’s heard Utah is a beautiful state, but she’s never seen that side of it. The only part she knows is ugly, red, and covered in endless scrub brush and despair.

And now that she’s back, she only wants to leave again.

But business first. Except–

“Hey! You just drove through town!”

“I know.”

“What? Why?”

“Cool your jets, sugar,” he soothes. “Just headed to the next town over. Figure we need an alibi. I’m sure you’re aware the cops know we’re together by now. If it comes up later, be good to have a set story in place.” He shoots a patronizing stare over his shoulder. “You weren’t thinkin’ a just chargin’ on in and killin’ ‘em without any kind of plan, were ya?”

Actually, that’s exactly what she’s been thinking. And now she’s cranky and hungry as a wolverine, seeing as the cold leftovers from the minifridge are long gone.

She purses her lips into a reluctant pout and snaps, “Are you gonna keep me tied up this whole time? Or is it part of your fancy plan to not let me go?”

“Well, I thought you’d never ask,” he teases with a slight shake of his head.

He pulls the truck into the next pullout and ducks into the back, toothpick flipping side to side. His dark eyes gleam with a bit of what she’s beginning to recognize as his own perverse type of amusement.

“Don’t you look a treat?” His gaze crawls over her. The wool blanket has shifted to reveal her half-naked and still trussed up on the little bed.

“Ha. _Ha_.” Sarcasm drips liberally from her voice, but she can’t do much else about her predicament unless he either cuts her loose or kills her.

His hunting knife is out again, and he cocks a hip and picks his thumbnail with the tip of the blade. “What’s the magic word?”

_Fucking bastard. I’m gonna gut you with that knife a yours first chance I get._

She glowers, obstinately refusing to beg, no matter how nice it might be to get her clothes back and find some food.

“I’m hungry.”

He frowns and tilts his head. “Ain’t no one ever taught you any manners?”

“ _And_ thirsty,” she emphasizes, annoyed.

Shaking his head in mock disappointment, he flips her over and saws through the ropes around her ankles. But instead of cutting her wrists free – suspicious bastard doesn’t trust her with those long-chain cuffs of his, nor should he – he flips her into a sprawl and pushes her shoulders back on the little bed, eyeing her tits and belly and _lower_ a bit greedily.

The way his pretty eyes go all dark makes her sort of forget she’s hungry. For food.

He plucks his toothpick out of his mouth, meeting her gaze again, then takes off his trucker cap and runs a hand through his thick, wavy hair.

“Wh-what are you doin’?” she whispers, a wave of heat surging through her.

“Now I figure you’re probably plannin’ on knockin’ me out again first chance you get and runnin’ off once I’ve helped ya wipe out ol’ Plutt back in Jakku.” He shoves her legs into a wide splay over the edge of the bed and plants a massive fist on either side of her head, leaning close so he can look her right in the eye. “But I want you to think about two things, first.”

She swallows. He smells good, kinda woodsy combined with a sort of metallic-tool-chemical smell like truck oil or WD-40 or something. He wedges a knee between her legs and presses in, just enough for her to feel his body heat through the flannel abrading her skin. This close, she can see the flecks of gold and brown and whiskey in his eyes, with a deep green spilling through around the pupil. Pretty eyes. Very pretty.

“What things?” Her breath only catches a little when he nuzzles under her ear. His beard is scratchy-soft and he’s making her wet.

“First,” he runs a warm palm down her chest, over her belly, to cup between her legs, “you better knock off any sort of ideas you have about runnin’, put ‘em right outta your head now before you get too set on the notion. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Her nostrils flare, but he pushes a long finger against her, _in_ her, and it steals her breath.

“Why do you say that?” she gasps. He strokes again, firm but gentle.

“Well, I reckon you and me are two peas in a pod. And I’ve grown a bit attached to the idea of keepin’ you around for a while,” he breathes against her neck, curling his finger up and pushing against her clit with his thumb until she whines. 

What he’s doing feels so good, way better than when she does it to herself.

“You are sopping _wet_ , baby girl,” he scolds. “This all just for me?” He rubs his flannel-clad chest against her until her nipples peak and she moans again. “It is, isn’t it?” He sucks her earlobe into his hot mouth, and she whimpers at this blistering, gentle assault.

“… _yeah_ …”

She wishes her hands were free, but she’s losing her concentration or maybe just redirecting it to focus fully on him as he kisses his way down her neck, swiping his tongue over her collarbone and breast and ribs and belly, moving lower.

“…wha? What are you doing?” She’s panting like she’s run a mile. Without the truck running there's no air conditioning and the cab is warming up, getting way too warm, even though the sun is going down. 

"Proving a point, I think. Turnabout's fair play. Ain't it?"

_What? Turnabout?_

He only grins and hooks her legs under his arms, lifting her hips to his mouth. Two seconds before he does it, she realizes nobody’s ever done this, and she almost yells for him to wait, but he kisses the insides of her thighs and she’s never, ever let anyone do it before, but now, well, she sort of _wants_ him to.

“Go on, then,” she demands a bit imperiously. Might as well see what all the fuss is about. Guys seem to like blow jobs just fine.

He chuckles as if he can read her mind, see her underlying nerves, but everything flies right out of her head soon enough.

And that first touch of those full, luscious lips on her pussy is fucking unreal, too good, too _something_. Her head falls back, and she wails long and loud, and his tongue, that fabulous, amazing tongue starts flicking over her like he’s licking an ice cream cone, not _her_.

“Mmmmhhh,” he grunts, “this little cunt _does_ taste as good as it smells. Been wonderin’ about it all fuckin’ day.”

Thankfully, this is about as chatty as he gets for a good few minutes while he gets back to work eating her out. She knows she’s dripping wet, she can hear the lewd noises he’s making, but it only spurs her into lifting her hips into his face for more. His grip tightens on her legs and she’s sure she screams a little when he sucks on her clit and shoves two fingers inside.

“Fuck!” she bites out, glaring down at him to meet his hot stare.

“Mmmmm, you…are…so…fuckin’ _tight_.” He spreads her open and holds her down, his long nose bumping against her clit. The flat of his tongue swipes over her and he fucks her with his fingers until that filthy-dirty achy bliss starts pooling down there, right where his mouth is, right where everything feels so fucking good.

Pleasure coils up and down her spine and belly and thighs and hips and his fingers dig in and she groans, “…oh…fuck…I’m gonna come…don’t stop…oh, _fuck_ …fuck…” She arches and rubs against his face, shameless, and she doesn’t give a fuck what he wants or why he’s doing this, or if it’s a tactic to trick her somehow. He can have whatever so long as he never stops.

It seems to go on and on, that stretching pull of ecstasy, the lovely scratch of his whiskers, that searing hot sweep of his tongue, the soft, warm tickle of his breath urging endless shudders out of her until she’s practically gone from it, high on it.

He moans again, low and deep, and Lord Almighty it hits her like an electrical charge when it happens, so hard and furious and delicious, her body seizes and clenches around his fingers and she comes all over his face.

His pretty eyes sparkle with victory and a hint of arrogance, but she doesn’t terribly mind.

“You liked that?”

“Yes,” she pants. “I surely did.” Nothing wrong with being honest. Especially when this guy is apparently the only person she’s ever met, including herself, capable of making her come so hard.

Sated and boneless, she catches her breath while he kisses his way back up and nuzzles his wet face in her neck.

“Good. Then you think about _that_ when I set you loose and give you your gun back.”

“You’re gonna give me my gun back?” she asks dubiously.

“Yep. Seems to me this Plutt fella is a right dirty bastard, and if he gets the jump on me, it’ll be good for you to have some extra protection.”

Oh, hell. He’s saying this like he actually gives a shit. Aw, damn. It’s gonna be extra hard to kill him, now.

Darkness flickers behind his eyes as he evaluates her expression and seems to read her down to her soul. But he doesn't look nearly as scared as he should. He just grins and rolls away before cutting her hands free and passing her bundle of clothes to her.

She dresses under his watchful eye, noting her underwear is conspicuously missing from the clothes he handed back and figuring it’s probably fine to go commando for a little while.

“We do this _business_ of yours, and if you’re a good girl and don’t give me no trouble, I’ll take ya shoppin’ when we get to Vegas.”

Her heart pumps faster.

“Shopping? Why?”

“Because. I think you’d look pretty all dolled up and I didn't see any extended wardrobe in that knapsack fulla toys you brung along.”

“Well, I don’t need no _extended_ wardrobe. Don’t wanna waste my money on clothes, anyhow. I’m sav–” She breaks off, furious with herself for reminding him about her eighty-six thousand dollars.

“I don’t need your money.” He scowls. She’s offended him.

Right. Maybe time to change the topic of conversation.

“What was the second thing? That you wanted me to think about?” She slips her sandals over her feet. One of the straps is almost worn through. Maybe shopping isn’t a terrible idea. Especially if he’s buying.

“The second thing. I suppose you know more about me than just about anyone else alive. My little hobby. And my other name. So if you run off on me…I _will_ hunt you down. And I promise you won’t like what happens after I find ya.”

“Well, same to you, daddy.”

“Good. So long’s we’re all clear.”

He climbs back into the driver’s seat and she hustles into the passenger seat before he's tempted to tie her up again.

“Can we get something to eat before…you know?”

He shoots her a toe-curling grin. “I just ate, but sure, baby. We got time to kill before paying a call on Plutt, anyhow. Should probably wait until after dark, yeah?”

She shrugs, again reminded of her hastily cobbled plan to just go to Plutt’s and unload her .38 in his face and maybe shoot him in the dick for good measure, too.

Ben takes an exit and they pull up to another little roadside motel on the outskirts of Niima, a little tourist-trap sort of town only slightly smaller than Jakku, although a bit more charming.

“I’m sure whatever you were cookin’ up was gonna be a real show-stopper. But seems to me you’re a mite impulsive. You always this disorganized?”

 _Well, yes, actually._ She crosses her arms and looks out the window. But her gaze inevitably slips back to his.

“It’s alright.” He winks and slides his toothpick to the other corner of his mouth. “You just need a teacher. C'mon. You can help me check in.”

She grins and shakes her head, unable to be mad at him when he’s being kind of sweet. He doesn’t want her money. He’s actually helping her. Maybe she could use a teacher, so long as he behaves himself.

She might just let him live a while, after all. She certainly won’t mind if he gives her a few more orgasms before she wastes him.

By the time they get “checked in” to the inevitable tiny motel room and find a Mom and Pop diner half a block away, her stomach is rumbling with hunger.

The instant her double-cheeseburger and fries are plopped in front of her she digs in, not even bothering to cut the enormous burger in half, just plucking it right from the greasy-paper-lined plastic basket while Ben takes his time unfolding his paper napkin and pouring an obscene amount of ketchup over half his fries.

With an indulgent smirk, he takes a massive bite from his own burger, which looks to be much easier for him to wrangle with those giant meathooks of his.

She grins around a mouthful of fries. Yeah. Those big ole hands are gonna come in _real_ convenient later.

And now she has an alibi, which is even better. He told the motel clerk they were headed to Vegas, but first, he wanted to show his girl the Grand Canyon. She didn’t miss how he used his Ben Solo ID and made a point about not wanting to be disturbed.

She played her part and hung her arms around his neck and looked up at him adoringly the whole time like she just couldn’t wait to jump his bones, which actually wasn’t terribly difficult to pretend.

She finishes her burger and fries and half a chocolate shake and waits for him to finish his, plus the rest of her shake, mentally plotting the end of Unkar Plutt. And Bob Teedo, too, if they can manage it.

Suddenly, she realizes he’s watching her the way a hawk looks at a mouse.

She rolls her eyes. “What?”

“I just cannot wait to be done with this business of yours.”

“Why?” she laughs. He looks pretty sincere, though she would agree she'll be happy to finish off Plutt, too.

“I reckon I’m lookin’ forward to getting the other half of my payment,” he purrs, staring at her mouth. “Get you back to our room and give you a chance to thank me properly." She arches a brow. "And oooh-eee I'm gonna take my time on you. Make you say _please_. And beg me for it."

"Is that all?" she snorts, but something deep in her belly flutters again. He sounds way too confident and it's doing things to her insides.

"And then I’m gonna bounce you on my cock so long and hard you’ll be sore for a solid fuckin’ week.”

“Promises, promises.”

He pops in a fresh toothpick. “All done with dinner?”

“Yep.”

His eyes turn cold and flat and black and he smiles. “All righty, then. Let’s go get ready to say hi to your ole foster dad, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll I will get to your AWESOME comments soon - I've got a bit of a backlog, but I LOVE them, so bear with me, I've had a heck of a week. Thought we needed some more smut before our duo goes off to do their thing...
> 
> XOXO! <3


	7. The Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Voodoo Child (Slight Return), Jimi Hendrix](https://open.spotify.com/track/2AxCeJ6PSsBYiTckM0HLY7?si=Fjk-iBfqSEqC8ac3LT-oJg)  
> [You Really Got Me, The Kinks](https://open.spotify.com/track/29SyMC0plk6qw8NMF7lfRL?si=oBvMDINgQ1CxGi_YfUPclA)  
>   
>  **Content Warning:** Check those tags for violence, blood and gore. Trigger warning for a VERY brief reference to Rey's past abuse.

# The Kill

As they leave, he loosens the flickering lightbulb outside their room. The place isn’t fancy enough for more than the bare essentials, including exterior light fixture covers, apparently, but Ben’s fine with it, especially when it suits his needs. He prefers it dark when they get back. Can’t have anyone spotting details, like if they happen to be covered in blood or whatnot.

He runs through his mental checklist. They left the TV and bathroom light on, not loud or bright enough to disturb any neighbors, but enough to indicate someone’s home if anyone snoops at the window. The Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob is prominently displayed, too, and the truck is locked up tight.

They walk quickly around to the back of the building and down the alley, both of them comfortable in the dim and quiet.

And she’s blessedly mute, thank the Lord.

He smirks to himself, and his elbows tingle as he recalls the sight of a faint rug burn on her ass earlier.

Even still, she ain’t begged him for a goddamned thing, yet, or even said _please_ for that matter. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind trussing her up and having himself a good ole time but for the fact she’d probably chop off an appendage or two with his buck knife if she ever manages to get herself loose.

_Wouldn’t put it past her, the wily thing._

But he doesn’t need to resort to restraints when he already knows what to do. He just needs to find the temerity to resist his impulses long enough to rev her engine and drive her crazy, particularly if he wants to hear any begging, let alone screaming.

Besides, she does taste mighty sweet, and it won’t be no great hardship to edge the hell out of her until he gets what he wants.

“How about this one?” she murmurs, indicating a small, inconspicuous sedan, dark in color and, best of all, with the keys in the ignition.

He grunts a “yeah, that’s real good,” thankful for overly-trusting, small-town yokels who would never expect their family rig to be used for such ulterior purposes as he's planning tonight. Together, they push it for half a block before she hops in and turns the key.

There’s just over half a tank of gas and Ben notes the fuel level, adding it to his to-do list. Rey drives, not speaking a word, which is fine. It’s a rare occasion when he doesn’t have to drive, and he doesn’t mind the change of pace of riding along.

Fifteen minutes later, they’re in Jakku. The town is dead quiet, and she takes them up a few side streets, silent all the way to Plutt’s last known residence.

“Motherfuck.”

This is the only word she speaks when she sees it. As Ben feared, the house is burned down and looks to have been that way for a while.

He can taste her disappointment. And fury. A deep, bottomless pit of it.

“What about his friend, Teedo? Don’t he live nearby? Bet he’ll know where Plutt is shackin’ up these days.”

“Yeah. If he’s still there.” Her eyes flicker to his. A touch of worry.

He winks, knowing she'll count the whole night a bust if they don't get Plutt. “Well, we’ll just do Teedo first, then. A minor alteration to the plan. No big deal.”

It’s another ten-minute drive to Teedo’s on the outskirts of town. She parks at the top of a long, dirt driveway. Teedo lives in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, and the place looks just as shitty as Rey recounted.

Adrenaline pulses into his veins, hot and thick, at the sight.

_Bingo._

He doesn’t know how he knows, but he’s positive that worthless piece of fuck is still living here.

_Bob Teedo of Jakku, Utah, you are about to have a very bad night._

“I’ll go in and get him. You wait here. Can you?”

“Yeah.”

He scowls and warns, “I will turn you over my knee and blister your bare ass if I come out and you’re not right here, I swear to God. Don’t need you gettin’ excited and tryin’ ta move things along and riling up witnesses and trouble. We do this my way or –”

“I’m stayin’ put! God!” she hisses, clearly annoyed. He gives her one last glower, unphased by her temper. She crosses her arms and takes a breath, calming herself down. “I’m stayin’ right here. I swear. Just go get him already.”

Stealthily, Ben creeps up to the ramshackle compound, a series of three trailers connected by oilcloth tarps draped overhead, lit only by the pale moonlight. Rey told him the “main” trailer is where Teedo lives, then there’s one where his “wives” sleep, and then there's one for cooking and eating and god-knows-what else.

The door on the biggest trailer isn’t locked – clearly, Teedo isn’t afraid of intruders, which means he probably has a gun – but this is no worry to Ben.

A few minutes later, he carries an unconscious Teedo to the car and hurls him none-too-gently to the ground. Rey is propped against the hood and he almost scolds her for moving but thinks better of it.

Ben won’t ever tell her what he saw, but he figures Rey was right smart to run off when she did.

Woulda been no kinda life for her, by the look of what he spotted inside them trailers.

“Baby girl, hop over and grab that chainsaw by the woodpile over there, would ya? And a spade if you can round one up in the next minute or two?”

The chainsaw is more of a distraction to keep her busy than anything, so Ben can concentrate on the matter at hand.

The owner of the car they stole is a tobacco chewer. Ben found his spitter in the cup holder on the way over here. Once Rey’s off on her errand, Ben takes the cup of stale coffee and slimy tobacco spit and tosses the contents into Teedo’s face. Teedo chokes awake and starts gagging at the smell, unable to wipe the filth away, since Ben duct-taped the puny fucker's wrists together.

“Now that’s just fuckin’ _disgusting_. I’m thinkin’ the world ain’t gonna be sorry to miss you, bub. Not them wives a yours, that’s for sure.”

Teedo is skinny, with patchy, thinning hair which he’s obviously trying to compensate for in lieu of a long, scraggly beard, currently quivering with fear and confusion and dripping with the foul contents of that coffee cup.

Ben inspects him for a minute or two, enjoying a moment of wordless communication as he informs the bastard without words how fucked he is. A surge of grim pleasure rolls into him when he distinguishes that familiar, glorious comprehension on his prey’s face. 

Rey sidles up and throws two spades and the chainsaw into the trunk.

“Took me a minute, but I gassed up the saw.”

“Good girl.” He levels his stare back on his quarry, noting the consternation in the man’s eyes when he recognizes Rey.

“You remember _her_?" Ben purrs, soft and deadly. "She got some unfinished business with her old foster dad. Where’s he livin’ these days?”

“W-what?” Teedo’s voice is high and thready. Whiny, almost. Ben decides he hates this fucker beyond all reckoning.

He pulls his knife, not fully willing to admit he’s getting a thrill at having an audience for this. He always thought maybe he preferred a bit of privacy when exercising his little _hobby_ …but with Rey looking on, well, hell. It’s damned electrifying.

“Where’s Plutt? I ain’t askin’ again.”

“I’m not tellin’ you shit! You can’t threaten me! Don’t you know who I am? Rey, you oughtta be horsewhipped for this–”

Lightning-fast, Ben squats down and snatches up the man’s bound hands, chopping off a finger with his very sharp blade.

Interestingly enough, Teedo’s not a squealer. He’s a gasper. And a cryer. Pathetic.

“Bob Teedo,” Rey snaps over the man’s shocked whimpers. “I don’t think you make very good husband material, not with that mean streak you got. And missin’ a finger, now. Eww.” She clucks her tongue. “You better tell him what he wants to know, or I expect he’ll take something more important next.”

Even in the dark gloom, Ben can see the man turn pale as a sheet.

He smiles.

Teedo tries his best to make a racket in the trunk of the car on the way to Plutt’s, but he can’t do too much crammed in with the chainsaw and the spades, not with his legs and wrists taped together. After he blabbed Plutt’s address, Ben took off another finger or two for good measure and was happy to shove the scrawny digits into Teedo’s mouth before slapping a piece of duct tape over the man’s bedraggled beard. He can either swallow ‘em or choke on ‘em, Ben doesn’t care much either way.

Rey drives again and gripes, “Why are we goin’ to all this trouble, bringin’ him? We coulda just killed him back at his place.”

“We still woulda had to bring him along if’n he was dead. I never leave a body at a crime scene, sugar.”

“Pfft. I _always_ do.”

She’s way too snarky and it aggravates him into pointing out, “Which is probably why you already have a goddamned nickname with the FBI, _Scavenger_.”

“Oh! Well, excuse me, mister professional fuckin’ killer!” she rants, eyes flashing. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a god- _damn_ expert with a specialization in crime and murderin’!”

“You just need to be more organized, is all,” he placates. “A little bit of planning goes a long–”

She interrupts with a derisive snort, “Maybe you need to be more spontaneous, you ever think of that?”

He grunts and fiddles with his toothpick, listening to Teedo’s waning moans coming from the trunk.

He’s about to chide her for sassin’ when they pull up to Plutt’s. That dark thrill prickles the back of his neck and sizzles in the air. 

“This it?”

“I think so,” she whispers.

There's lights on still, but it looks quiet enough. Teedo swore on his last good index finger Plutt lives alone now, on account a him getting into trouble with the foster situation, but Ben knows a soon-to-be-dead man’s last words don’t mean jack fuckin’ shit.

A large shadow moves past the front window.

_Plutt’s a night owl. Won’t see another sunrise._

“That him?”

Rey’s squinting at the house, but her face goes still as stone when the shadow crosses the window again.

“Yep. It's him.”

“All right. You remember the plan?”

She swallows and just when he’s starting to wonder how cold-blooded she _really_ is – if she’s up for this – she turns and gives him a ruthless smile.

“The plan is simple,” she recites, cold as ice. “You go in and distract him, I take him from behind.”

Ben adjusts his toothpick and nods. “Only I don’t think a gun is a good idea in this neighborhood. Too noisy.”

“I’ll think of something,” she promises. “You just keep his attention until then.”

“Okay, sugar.” He plucks out his toothpick and puts it in his pocket, mesmerized by the glow of bloodlust in her pretty eyes. “Hey. Come here.”

Surprised, she leans close, and he kisses her, scooping her hair through his fingers and shoving his tongue in her mouth, hot and wet and messy. She livens right up at this and kisses him back until they’re both a little breathless.

“I can’t fuckin’ _wait_ to get you back to that motel…”

She gives him a lusty little chuckle and silently exits the car, waiting for him to pop the trunk and strangle the life outta Teedo so the bastard doesn’t cause a ruckus while they’re dealing with Plutt.

After he’s done wringing Teedo’s worthless neck, he gives Rey a minute to slip around back before strolling up to the front door. He knocks just loud enough to sound urgent but not authoritative enough to be a cop.

_Don’t wanna scare him off._

Plutt opens the door, and just as she said, the man is built like a big, flabby brute. But Ben has an inch or two on him and the advantage of surprise.

“Who the fuck are you?” Plutt growls from thick, blubbery lips that Ben wouldn’t mind peeling from his ugly face with the edge of his buck knife.

“Name’s Kylo Ren. I’m here on account of Rey Johnson. You ‘member her?”

Plutt’s face droops into an unpleasant sneer. “Oh, I remember that little fuckin’ slut. Where is she?” He’s greasy and bald, and his beady eyes slip from Ben’s for a split second, peering into the dark behind Ben’s shoulder searching for Rey.

It’s all Ben needs to muscle his way inside, knife already drawn.

Plutt has a massive bowie knife hidden behind the door, but Ben’s expecting trouble and dodges the man's blundering swipe, forcing Plutt to stumble further inside. He vaguely orients himself in the cluttered living room. It reeks of stale onion and forty-year-old carpet, bad enough to make his nostrils flare as he squares off with Plutt, who eyes Ben’s blade with not near enough fear. No, he just laughs and so Ben grins amicably in return.

_Ah, this’ll be a treat to see..._

“That fuckin’ bitch thinkin’ of sendin’ you here to what? Teach me a lesson with that little shank?”

“Nah. I expect she’ll be the one to send you to hell. I’m just here to help her hide the body.”

Ben doesn’t take his eyes off of Plutt’s, but he catches the whisper of incoming movement from his periphery.

“Hiya, _Dad_!” Rey snarls, teeth bared, ferociously hacking into Plutt’s back from behind, dropping him into an instant kneel with whatever she hit him with.

Plutt certainly isn’t expecting it, by the look of shock on his face. His bowie knife falls to the floor and Ben kicks it out of reach, watching the man’s fat, repulsive hands scrabble at his back in a vain effort to remove whatever’s lodged in his spine.

“I like to take ‘em by surprise,” Rey mutters, looking up at Ben with sparks in her eyes. 

“I can see that, sweetheart,” he drawls, watching the light in Plutt’s ugly, beady little eyes start to fade. It is a delicious, almost intimate moment, and his upper lip curls into a happy little goodbye leer. “I think you got him, baby.”

Rey, however, isn’t so patient to extend the death moment and uses her foot to pry her hatchet free before taking another swing. God knows where she found the damned thing, but Ben’s just happy she didn’t pull her gun, which surely would’ve drawn plenty of unwelcome attention.

Plutt falls forward, twitching – she must’ve severed something in his spine just now – and Ben steps back to give her room.

Straddling the quivering body, she aims for his neck this time and hits an artery. Ben doesn’t even have time to warn her before she pulls out the hatchet and swings again, this time under a fountain of red.

Her aim is true, even if she’s on the sloppy side, but Ben figures now isn’t a great time to point that out or she’ll probably take a swipe at him, too.

_Thunk._

Probably best to let her get this out of her system.

He can show her the proper technique for swinging an axe later.

“You’re lucky,” she grunts to Plutt's mutilated corpse, “I didn’t –” _thunk_ “– chop your dick off, first! You fucking fuck!”

“Want me to roll him over so you can chop it off now?” Ben offers casually.

“Nah. I’ve seen enough of that shriveled pathetic thing.”

There’s blood everywhere, all over her and a fair bit on him, too. She gives Plutt a few more wet hacks until she’s slightly out of breath, then pauses.

“You think he’s dead?”

“Oh! Yep. Definitely.” The man’s tongue is lolling, and the arterial spurting has slowed to quiet seep.

“Hmm. He wasn’t as noisy as I was expecting.”

“Well…I think you got his windpipe on that second or third strike, baby, and he wouldn’t have been able to say too much after that.”

Her lips flatten into a moue of slight displeasure.

“Whatcha gonna do about all this blood, now?” he teases. But gently. She still looks a mite feral.

“Um. Let him rot in it? Maybe we can let some of the windows open and some possums can come in and…” Ben pulls his expression into what he hopes looks like a thoughtful frown, as if he’s actually considering such a hare-brained scheme, when in reality he's trying not to hurt her feelings.

Privately, he’s sort of glad he found her when he did, or who knows what shithole prison she’d be in by now.

“How about you go fetch me some WD-40?”

“What if there isn’t any?” She’s breathing hard, but still in the zone.

“Every house has a can of it somewhere. Check under the kitchen sink.”

She obeys, and Ben kicks the corpse over and assesses it. They’ll have to burn the whole place to ashes and hope the coroner doesn’t find any chop marks from the hatchet hitting bone.

Sure enough, she comes back a minute later and passes him a familiar blue and yellow can. Almost full. Perfect.

“What’s it for?” she asks, curiously. “Stain remover?”

“Fire accelerant. Undetectable.”

“Huh.” Her eyes gleam with a touch of admiration now, and his blood begins to surge pleasantly into his groin. She’s mighty appealing when she looks all appreciative like this, and the anticipation is sort of killing him.

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Lookin’ at me like that. We need to get outta here before…”

“Before what?”

“Before I decide to drop my common sense and screw your brains out right here in this filthy mess. Go fetch a couple a blankets for the ride back. You’re drippin’ blood all over the goddamn place, and we still gotta go bury Teedo.”

“Can’t we just leave Teedo here, too?”

“And how are the cops gonna figure he got here? He walked all this way in the middle of the night? Nah, we’ll make sure they’ll never find the body.”

“Sounds like a lot of hassle,” she grumbles, but her eyes are alight with mirth, and she boldly reaches over and strokes a palm over the bulge in his jeans.

“Go on, dammit,” he puts a warning edge to his voice, not that she’s even half terrified of him anymore. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back and fuck each other stupid.”

She giggles and trots out of the room, looking for blankets and sending his heart into pure chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMGGGGG. So this is an official WIP with an outline and everything, and I hope you all are happy with yourselves for egging me on like this. I put a chapter count on this fic, but if you know me by now, it's an estimate. 
> 
> I'm super excited for next chapter and I hope you are too! XOXO!!!
> 
> ALSO: YOUR COMMENTS, OMG! I am waaaay behind on replies, but I've read every single one of them at least twice and wow, thank you all for the enthusiasm! By the sound of things, I figure we'd all prefer if I whip this out instead of replying right away, but I do intend to reply, even if it takes a while. Just know that I LIVE for your words and I LOVE them and you.
> 
> xoxoxoxo...........


	8. The Payment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sunshine of Your Love, Cream](https://open.spotify.com/track/2K2M0TcglCRLLpFOzKeFZA?si=T5A-3YENRae13nPXvVAm_g)   
>  [Stay, Maurice Williams & The Zodiacs](https://open.spotify.com/track/5IVaPiiBCUgsNp3kWeU5c2?si=BXdBHswCS4W6-9dKblqG1Q)

# The Payment

It’s exhausting and a ton of extra work to go to so much trouble of covering up their kills.

But damn if Ben Solo isn’t sexy as fuck when he commits felony arson. And murder.

She didn’t miss the healthy dose of satisfaction in his eyes when he earlier wrapped his hands around Teedo’s neck and wrung it like a chicken’s, nor could she ignore the gleam of approval that came later, when she hacked Plutt to a bloody pulp with his own hatchet, which in retrospect did make a huge mess that probably should be covered up.

Just like Ben suggested.

Sure, he’s bossy, but she won’t argue about it so long as he’s acting in their best interests. And he seems to genuinely want this to go off without a hitch. Which is kinda nice.

Nobody’s ever been so favorable towards her work before.

Still, she takes her time looking for a clean blanket – Plutt’s a total slob – and she doesn’t feel any particular need to hurry while she makes herself a sandwich – no sense in wasting that pastrami in the fridge.

She comes back with blankets and even a pair of gloves big enough to fit Ben, which he is thrilled to see, and watches him finish propping the WD-40-soaked corpse in the living room recliner.

She never would have managed to move Plutt into a less conspicuous position.

His eyes land on her almost finished sandwich and a trace of a frown crosses his brow.

“What? I was hungry!” she cries, feeling a bit defensive.

He shakes his head, so she takes an enormous bite to make her point.

“Baby, go crack a few windows, would ya?”

“Why?”

“Fire needs oxygen. House’ll burn faster with the windows open.”

“Won’t people smell the smoke?”

“Won’t be worth the trouble of butchering him if’n we can’t hide our tracks.”

She shrugs and drops the blankets by the door and goes to obey him while he finishes dousing the recliner and nearby stack of dirty magazines with WD-40.

But when she comes back with an unopened bag of Funyuns, his eyes light up.

“Those’ll do perfect. Give’m here.” She grudgingly slaps the bag into his hand and to her consternation, he looks like he means to light them on fire, not eat them.

“They burn hot,” he insists at her disapproving scowl. “Go get in the car. I’m right behind ya.”

She decides now is not the time to argue and bends to swipe up the blankets and Plutt’s big bowie knife off the floor, a memento from her past she recalls encountering on more than one occasion, even if she has no idea how to use the damned thing.

Maybe Ben can show her a few tricks. He seems like a knife kinda guy. Once they're in the car she asks why he doesn’t want the bowie, but he just shakes his pretty head and tells her his buck knife suits him fine enough.

“Let’s go bury Teedo and be done with this.”

And that’s pretty much all he says the entire way out to the other side of town, a good fifteen miles into the scrubby desert, and the whole time they’re digging and burying and driving back.

His silence doesn’t bother her at all. It’s peaceful, although not without a deepening anticipation that has her blood flowing hot by the end of the night. Mostly because she’s beyond excited to get her hands on that gorgeous dick of his so she can watch him lose his composure like he did before.

It’s an hour or two before sunrise and the motel and surrounding streets are dead quiet. They return the stolen car after Ben announces they didn’t hardly use enough gas for anyone to notice. He takes Teedo’s chainsaw, wrapped in their bloody blankets, and chucks it into the big metal toolbox on the back of his truck. By the time they get to their room, Rey is positively vibrating with excitement.

And adrenaline…and so is Ben. His eyes haven’t lost that sexy glitter, lit with the same bloodlust as hers, and she wants to revel in it before he fades back into his typical laconic, slightly aloof persona that she quickly realizes is the mask he presents to the world. Very different from his true self.

He flips off the TV once they get in their room, and she heads for the bathroom when a fist snags her hair and jerks her back.

“Not so fast. Come ‘ere,” he growls, pushing her to her knees.

In the dim, she hears the rasp of his zipper more than sees anything, but she jabs her bowie knife into the beat-up dresser beside her and exclaims, “That’s right! I forgot to say thank you!”

“I been waitin’. Take your top off. I wanna see ‘em,” he orders with a haughty lift of his chin.

Her vision adjusts to the low lighting and she licks her lips, stripping off her flannel and meeting his searing-hot gaze with her best sultry smile before scooting close and tearing at the front of his jeans.

“Well, then show me what you've got in here.” And sure enough, it’s like the Christmas morning she never got when she gropes at the front of his boxers. He’s already hard and doesn’t need much encouragement at all.

“Oooh!” she breathes. “Look at you!”

“This is the very last cock you’re ever gonna suck, so you might as well get real good and acquainted with it, sugar.”

“You think so?” she taunts with a coy murmur, pulling him free of his boxers and pumping him in her fist a few times for good measure.

“Fuck!”

His hands scrabble into her hair and clutch at her skull and she presses her face into the thatch of wiry hair at his groin groaning, “ _Mmmmh_ …thank you…”

“Fuck!” he grunts again, huskier. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

But when she breathes a hot kiss lower, right on the family jewels, before sucking them very gently into her mouth, one at a time, all she hears for a few minutes are just his throaty, masculine curses.

She rolls her tongue over the soft skin and sucks on his balls and pumps her hand over the length of him until she’s worked up enough saliva and he’s leaking all over her fist.

“Mmmm, _yummy_ ,” she teases, wetly licking her way up the shaft. His hands tighten almost painfully when she takes the tip of his dick into her mouth and swirls her tongue around, flicking her tongue under the head until his whole magnificent body trembles.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasps. “I do believe I like you with your hands free and your mouth full.”

She hums agreement and gives his balls a gentle, appreciative squeeze, and he chokes ever so lightly and pushes in deeper, pumping his hips and staring down his nose like he’s never in his life seen anything quite so fascinating before.

It hardly takes another minute, which barely seems fair at all, but when he bumps against the back of her throat a few times and she moans, long and loud, that’s all he needs to let loose with a soft exclamation that makes her belly flutter. His hips shudder under her hands and he fills her mouth with the salty, creamy taste of him, and she slurps him down and wipes the back of her hand across her lips when he’s finished, sitting back on her heels and beaming happily up at him.

Instead of looking mellower, he’s panting, and he has a ferocious glitter in his eyes, like he knows how much she liked what she just did.

“Good thing we got that outta the way,” he huffs. “Now it’s your turn to make some noise.”

Which she doesn’t mind at all but for the fact she’s covered in blood and probably needs a shower, no matter how horny she is.

Reading her mind, he hauls her up by the underarms and herds her to the bathroom.

“Strip outta them clothes.”

“You are _so_ fuckin’ bossy!” she laughs, swatting his hands away. “What are you gonna do if I say no?”

His mouth curls into an evil grin and full-blown electricity rips down her spine when he mutters grimly, “Oh, maybe that’s what I’m hopin’ for, darlin’.”

He’s impossible to ignore with his blood up like this, and a surge of desire hits her so strong it catches her breath. And when he tears off his flannel and shucks his t-shirt, it feels like she swallowed a beehive what with all that lovely pale muscle coming straight at her.

“What’re you gonna do?” she whispers again when he looms close enough she can smell him, an odd, enticing combination of clean sweat, night air, WD-40, blood and smoke and desert dirt, and what she’s quickly beginning to recognize as just him. Her knees go a bit weak under his penetrating stare.

“I’m gonna get you so fuckin’ wet…” He pushes her shoulder into the wall and cups her jaw until her mouth presses open. “…and then I’m gonna destroy that pussy. Tear it to pieces.”

She sinks her fingernails into the meat of his pecs, and he eases up on squeezing her face long enough for her to taunt, “You’re a real, live monster, aren’t ya?”

His lip curls into a sneer. “Yes, I am.”

Fuck, his body heat alone is enough to melt her into a puddle, but when he moves to roughly push her jeans down her hips and finds her without underwear, she would swear he’s hot enough to sizzle. A long blunt finger slides between her thighs and she whimpers.

Closer to the bathroom light, it’s easier to see how he devours her every expression, hungry, inspecting her real careful, like she’s a problem he can’t quite figure out, like he’s searching for something specific…and it strikes her he’s looking for _it_ , that same look his prey gets when they realize they’re nothing but a sack of dead meat.

_You’ll never see that look on my face. Not in a million years._

His finger thrusts harder and she widens her stance as much as she’s able to, what with her jeans around her knees restricting her movement.

“I ain’t never gonna beg,” she warns.

“You don’t say?”

“Maybe you’ll be the one beggin’ me.”

In answer, he bends and sucks a nipple into his hot mouth, and she squeals.

“I s’pose I don’t much care what you say," he murmurs against the swell of her breast, swiping it with his tongue while he fucks her with his finger, "so long’s as you make a racket. Fuck, your pussy is wet.”

He shoves her stumbling into the tiny bathroom. She glances at the mirror over the vanity. She’s covered in blood, and he’s got it spattered all over his face and forearms.

They manage to finish stripping their clothes off and cram into the tiny shower – no tub in this room – soaping each other and squashing close to take turns under the tepid spray.

He’s already getting hard again by the time they’re done, and she knows better than to take her eyes off him, a predator about to pounce.

She scrubs her skimpy towel over her hair, and he does the same, glaring the whole time, until liquid heat spills into her middle and she skips out of the room so he can stalk her down.

There isn’t much room to maneuver, and he catches her two seconds later.

He attacks the side of her neck and she whimpers, unable to think straight, unable to do anything but let him lift her so she can wrap her legs around his waist, his hot skin sliding against hers, the scruff of hair under his belly button rubbing against her own smooth skin.

“I’m gonna wreck your fuckin’ cervix,” he grunts, trapping her fists against the wall on either side of her head.

He’s got her pinned wide open like a rabbit on a spit, so she does the only thing she can and sucks his plush bottom lip into her mouth, forcing him to falter two steps back. He stumbles into the bed and falls, landing with her on top.

“Didn’t I tell you I’m on top next time?” she scolds, grabbing hold of his dick and rubbing him against her, guiding him home.

He bends his knees and bumps his pelvis up, hard, gripping handfuls of her hips and ass and thighs, whatever he can get hold of while he impales her.

They groan together, eyes locked, and it feels so fucking good her head falls back.

“How’s that, baby?” She moans but doesn’t answer until he hisses, “You feel that, what I’m doin’ to you?”

“Yes!” she sobs. “Fuck, _yes_ , I feel it.”

“What do you feel?”

“Your dick in me, oh _fuck_ …”

“Feels good?”

“Yes, fuck, yes…”

“This is the only dick you’re _ever_ gonna get from now on, you hear me?” he rumbles, giving her a savage jounce that jars her teeth together. “Ain’t nobody else gonna fuck you but me. Ever. Again.”

“Okay,” she pants, glowering back at him. “Then you don’t get to fuck nobody else but me, neither.”

“Fair enough,” he bites out.

He rolls his hips, slow and languorous, moving and shifting her over him, sliding his pubic bone against hers until the edges of her vision turn black.

All she can see are his sweaty muscles bunching and flexing beneath her and perspiration dampening his forehead as they grind and strain against each other.

He moves a hand up to pluck at her nipple and she can’t hold back a shivering wail.

“Say it.” The command is unmistakable.

She knows what he wants. She shakes her head _no_ , unable to talk.

“Say it,” he insists, grinding into her so good and right she whines. He cajoles again, “Fuckin’ _say it_ …just say it…”

His rhythm takes on a hypnotic cadence, and really what’s one little word?

_Please._

He’s rubbing her clit just right, just _perfect,_ pumping into her so hard, jolting her down to the marrow of her bones.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet. So fuckin’ _hot_. Say it. Come on, baby…say it for me.”

“P-p-please, oh fuck, oh fuck me _please_ …harder…oh fuck!”

Triumph lights his eyes, and he does exactly what she wants and digs his fingers into her hips and fucks up into her until she’s got nothing left inside but him. He shoots her a wicked grin and she finds it again, that filthy, delicious bliss that rubs at every single one of her nerve endings, coaxing her into flame, melting her into him, making her come.

“Oh, fuck, you’re coming…shit I’m gonna come, too,” he rasps, flipping his sweaty hair out of his face and bouncing her like she's a rag doll.

She falls against him and hard, hot puffs of air hit her face and he bares his teeth and heaves against her, and fuck he’s going to split her in half, so she gives in to it, that pleasure so fierce it’s pain.

His mouth slams onto hers and she can feel it, every scalding inch of him taking her over, sinking into the hot, gripping-wet depths of her, clutching her close until it’s just them and nothing else but the fire they made together, burning them both alive.

* * *

Her sweaty little body is plastered against his, boneless and warm, and he debates the benefits of popping out to the truck to snag his handcuffs against staying the fuck put and dozing off in the pleasurable aftermath.

The light of dawn filters through the dirty blinds over the window, and she’s still awake, lightly stroking his chest and arms, petting him like he’s a big cat she’s trying to tame. And while his body might be sated, the rest of him is whirring into overdrive at the unprecedented and extremely complicated development of him not being able to imagine his life without her in it. Which could be a problem, given his line of work.

“You don’t get many blowjobs, do you?” She interrupts his thoughts, tracing a fingernail over the contours of his pecs and peeking up at him with too much insight to make him entirely comfortable.

“Nah,” he admits softly. “One of the hazards of the game, I guess. Not much opportunity for it, unless I wanna risk some damage to my more…tender bits and pieces.”

She chuckles. “Well, I’m glad you managed to keep _your bits_ safe until I found ya.”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Same to you, sweetheart.”

“You never asked me why I did it. Killed those other people.”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

“Well. I suppose the why of it is your own personal business. Though I reckon if you ever get caught, the law’ll try to figure out why for certain.” He pauses for a few long minutes. “They was sayin’ on the news it looks deliberate. The Scavenger's kills. Like vengeance.”

“People think they know me. No one does.”

“Well, I do.” He kisses the top of her head.

“I thought I’d have to do it alone. Killing Plutt.”

“You’re not alone,” he croons and kisses her again.

She hums quietly and he watches her face until her eyes flutter closed. He decides he can get the handcuffs later, seeing as she’s trusting him enough to fall asleep on him, even knowing exactly what kind of monster he is.

He dozes too, content.

But when he wakes alone in the late morning sunshine, he curses himself for not cuffing her. Or at least tying her down.

Because she’s nowhere to be found, not a trace. Not even a silky scrap of hot-pink thong left behind for him to remember her by. She even took the Stihl outta the truck and what the Sam Hill is she gonna do with that? No way anyone'll pick up a hitcher with a chainsaw. 

And she took his buck knife, too, goddammit.

Pure, unadulterated annoyance floods his gut when he realizes she’ll be long gone by now, and he’s already a day or two late returning to Vegas and can’t waste any time trying to hunt her ass down. Not that she’ll be easy to track.

His frustration burns into clean, volcanic wrath as it slowly, insistently simmers in his veins, an endless, building fury that doesn’t spill over until he claps eyes on her again.

Which doesn't happen for two whole fuckin' years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS! I just realized today is my TWO YEAR fic writing anniversary. So I just want to say to all of you: I LOVE YA! (And now you might know why I picked a two-year time jump in this fic? *insert evil villain chuckle here*)
> 
> Some of you have been with me since my very first fic and some of you are new readers. To all of you and to EVERYONE in between, I just want to send out a huge thank you and hugs. This has been an unreal experience, and I can't tell you all how much it means to have enjoyed so many wonderful interactions with this fandom. I feel blessed and humbled, truly.
> 
> Thank you, and XOXO!
> 
> -Amy B.
> 
> P.S. Just so ya know, I actually didn't have to google the WD-40 trick or the Funyuns one...some stuff a girl just learns from life, okay? *winks*


	9. The Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Money (That's What I Want), The Kingsmen](https://open.spotify.com/track/4OncTbCLRRozq30FZfx2Tc?si=sFfxLqhZRaKcuD6tnIHXXA)   
>  [Cry To Me, Solomon Burke](https://open.spotify.com/track/20BMhnBchcamYiWP2gUeKW?si=f1TvUAxVR7yH4MP_MfkaHQ)

# 

# The Girl

**Two Years Later, Canto Bight Casino and Resort, Las Vegas, NV –**

Kylo Ren stares at the video feed in the security booth for a hard dozen seconds before barking his command to the other two in the room, Hux and Mitaka, positive he’s hallucinating.

“That girl, there. Red dress by the south slots. Go and fetch her.” His pulse is slow and steady, his tone a low, gravelly command. But his thoughts, they are a-whirlin’.

“Excuse me?”

Kylo can practically hear the ten-foot pole shoved up Hux’s ass knocking against the back of the man’s molars. Uptight fucker.

“Fetch. That. Girl,” Kylo repeats, jabbing a finger at the screen. “I’m not askin’ again.”

Mitaka, ever obedient, because he knows what’s good for him, jumps and is halfway out the door before Ren is finished talking. But not Hux.

Hux is a fuckin’ pain in the ass.

“I don’t take orders from the likes of you!” Hux sneers. “ _You_ fetch her if you want her so bloody much.”

The ginger-haired man ain’t long for this world what with his shitty attitude and utter failure to demonstrate the skills of being a team player. Trying to cling to the rapidly unraveling strands of his temper, Kylo slaps the flat of his palm onto the desk and growls, “She’s a security threat. You’re in charge of security.”

“And _you’re_ in charge of interrogation. You don’t get to order my men–” Beside him, Hux slaps his hand down next to Kylo's and glowers right back in open defiance.

Before Hux can blink an eye, Kylo’s dagger finds its way into his fist and in one fluid motion, he jams it into the precise space between Hux’s splayed fingers.

“I didn’t say _send men_ to fetch her. I said _you_ fetch her. And take her to my room.”

Hux goes a little pale and he slides his pasty hand away from the blade still quivering in the desk.

“And keep your fuckin’ hands off her. Or I’ll peel your face like a fuckin’ onion.”

Hux slinks out of the room behind Mitaka, and Kylo returns his attention to the security monitor, assessing the scene and promising himself if Hux doesn’t nab her in the next two minutes, they’ll never find his body.

Of course, this means Kylo will have to go after her personally, and this will certainly interfere with his… _other_ business enterprises, particularly since he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to work for Snoke and simultaneously curb the impulse to satisfy his _acute_ curiosity as to what the hell Miss Rey Johnson has been up to all this time. 

But, she’s a slippery one, and she'll bolt if she suspects Kylo's coming for her. It’s hard to drag his eyes from the screen. Eventually, he forces himself to move.

_Once she’s in the underground service elevator, there’s no way she’ll be able to get out._

He slams his way out of the booth and strides to his destination.

A few casino staff jump out of his way, but he hardly notices them.

He’s already close to losing control, and he knows it could be bad, real bad if he does.

But he’s been stewing for a good long while, and he definitely needs to let off some steam. Her fault.

His simmering rage heats to a deadly boil, threatening to spill over. Nobody wants to be around when that happens. 

* * *

“Miss, if you’d come with us and not make any trouble, that would be for the best.”

Through the stale, cigarette-scented air and the gregarious big band music permeating the constant electronic chime of slot machines, the accent is crisp and British by the sound of it.

She turns her head slowly, not panicking.

No need to panic. It’s not him and not likely to be. But, _dammit_. They must’ve noticed she’s been laundering her stolen cash and prepaid credit cards, swapping her “winnings” for chips, then coming back a few days later to cash them in for clean money.

She’s been half-expecting to get caught, actually.

But not by Ben Solo. Or Kylo Ren. A ghost from her past who haunts her thoughts all too regularly.

She’s not even sure how to define what they did. Was he an accomplice? Sure. A lover? More like a near-fatal attraction.

Mistake? She sighs. Definitely. _I shoulda took him out when I had the chance so I could put him outta my mind for good._

Still, the odds of encountering him here of all places are slim to none. No way a wanderer like him will ever stay put for too long.

He’ll be long gone after all this time, and while she imagines Vegas is safe enough so long as _he’s_ not around, she’s just slightly annoyed for being interrupted. 

From what she’s seen of the Hollywood version of casinos and Las Vegas, the two confronting her now are not at all what she’s assumed would be big-time Vegas casino security. She figured if and when anyone caught on to what she’s been doing, they might send some goons to intimidate her into running off to the next casino. But instead of a couple of thugs with dead eyes and too many muscles in place of brains, she gets stuck with these two dipshits.

Hardly a challenge.

The man speaking to her is handsome. Tall. Not as tall as _him_ , but still a good six feet or so of refined, well-groomed ice cube, if a red-headed man can look so warm and at the same time emit such an incongruously cold demeanor.

It’s the eyes, she decides. A sea-foam green without a hint of heat whatsoever to lighten the frost. He probably won’t be any fun to kill at all.

“Um. I don’t make a habit of talking to strangers. Do you have any identification?” Keeping her voice properly apologetic and firm is a good skill in this situation. Men have tried to scam her before, much to their eternal and stunned regret.

Red’s lips flatten into a thin line and he cocks his head, but he pulls an ID badge from his well-cut suit jacket, which she plucks from his hand before he can return it to his pocket.

She decides she might just cut his tongue out for the hell of it and quietly takes the other man's ID, too, memorizing them instantly before handing them back.

“And just _why_ am I goin’ with you gentlemen? I ain’t done nothing wrong,” she says, adding a faint warble to her voice and inviting their trust by playing up her own unsureness.

Helpless. Men always underestimate a woman they figure is helpless. Which is fine by her.

Sure enough, Red eases up on the chill just a touch and his buddy, a shorter, younger man with dark hair and puppy dog eyes who wouldn’t last two minutes in a dark alley alone with her, looks around worriedly.

“You’ve been reported as a security threat, and we have a protocol to follow. You’ll need to answer a few questions. We’d prefer to do this in private. Come along.”

“Questions?” _Oh, yes. We should definitely get somewhere more private…_

On demand, her eyes brim with tears and she lets one spill over, her trembling hands grasping at Puppy Eyes. She stays seated, though, to maintain the illusion of power imbalance. 

“Please,” she pleads. “I don’t wanna go anywhere. I know what happens to girls who go with men like you. Please. Just let me go.”

While she’s clutching and blubbering, she gives him a discreet pat-down.

He’s got a gun holstered under his left arm and a smartphone in his breast pocket and best of all he’s wearing a horrified look on his face.

Red looks way too skeptical, though, and he doesn’t make a move to touch her, so she clings to Puppy’s arm, squeezing his bicep like she just can’t help but be impressed or stop herself from copping a feel.

“Please. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. It was all an honest mistake. I swear.”

But Red discreetly points a very deadly-looking Glock at her chest and waves it in two short, abrupt jerks of his wrist, indicating a security door just on the other side of the loudly carpeted walkway in between several banks of blinking, bleeping slot machines.

Shit. They’re not fucking around, and though she doubts anyone will open fire on her in the middle of a semi-busy casino, she knows these places are run by the mafia. A thrill of adrenaline spills into her veins.

_Might be fun to take out a mobster or two while I’m here…and they must be in the mob if they’re just pulling guns out right here like it’s nothin’._

She swings out of her spot and stands meekly enough, wondering if she’ll ever again in her life feel such a thrill as she felt the night she ran away from Ben Solo.

Sure, she was scared to death he would find her again, and the adrenaline from that alone was damned potent. But the fear of what would happen if she stayed was enough to spur her into gettin’ out while the gettin’ was good.

 _You’re not alone,_ he told her, right after making her say _please_ and giving her another bone-melting orgasm, all the while looking at her like he wanted to eat her alive. And she almost let him.

And that woulda been the stupidest thing she could’ve done.

Better to stick to her own self and stay alone and independent and not get tied down. Especially not with someone with the power to render her weak with a handful of pretty words and a tender smile and, most appealingly, a vicious killing streak a mile wide. 

Red’s gun prods her ribs and Puppy Eyes leads her through the security door and into a double-elevator, the kind with doors on either side.

She takes stock of her surroundings and pays attention to the route, the exits. Right up to the minute when the elevator stops. The door behind her slides open, but before she can turn to see where they are, the pinching sting of a needle in her neck makes the world go black.

“Wakey-wakey, sunshine,” a husky voice purrs in her ear.

A voice from her dreams.

From her nightmares.

“Ben?”

“Oh, goddamn,” he breathes. “You have _no_ idea how I’ve fantasized about this.”

It’s him. _Fuck._

He’s standing behind her, just out of sight. But she can see she’s in a small room, lit with fluorescent lighting overhead. It’s a little bigger than a closet and owns a conspicuous lack of furniture or decoration. Must be some kind of interrogation cell, near as she can figure.

Her tongue feels thick and fuzzy and her thoughts are scattered and unfocused, but she’s rapidly getting riled up over the fact she spent two years pointlessly avoiding the entire fucking western seaboard and Colorado, too, because of him.

That’s a lot harder to do than it sounds, and all for nothing, apparently.

“Nice setup you’ve got here. It _is_ you, isn’t it, Ben?”

“Well, most everyone 'round here calls me Kylo.”

“I expect I’ll call you whatever I damn well please,” she retorts, craning her neck. It stings where the syringe got her and she’s hungry. It’s making her cantankerous. “Set me loose.”

Of course, he ignores her, the big jerk.

“I can’t believe you were fool enough to show your face in these parts after the way you left me high and dry. Though I s’pose I oughtta thank ya for leavin’ the truck keys.”

“Well. Both your IDs showed Colorado addresses. I didn’t think you’d be here in Vegas,” she replies, all honesty.

He prowls around and stands where she can see him for the first time after so long. Something wild and hot unfurls under her skin, whipping at her nerve endings until the tension between them is beyond intense. 

Seeing him after all this time, it’s as much of a shock as a rush. He’s shaved his face and trimmed his hair, though it’s still long and thick and gun-barrel black. He wears a dark blue suit over a tight black t-shirt, and the cotton strains ever so lightly against the hard, heavy slabs of muscle over his chest. Yep. She definitely remembers _all_ of that. Vividly.

She hasn’t gone a single night without thinking about it.

He’s handsome as the Devil himself and looks just about as deadly when he slides a dagger from a sheath at his side and flips the blade adroitly between his large, dexterous fingers.

His eyes glint like a demon’s while he peruses her, taking his time and pacing back and forth and giving her nothing less than the impression of a barely controlled animal waiting to be unleashed. It most certainly doesn’t help she’s strapped down, slightly inclined and terribly uncomfortable. He’s got her in restraints like Hannibal fucking Lecter and this just pisses her the fuck off.

_I’m not your prey, daddy. But you’re about to be mine. Just gimme a minute._

Discreetly, she works at the restraints holding her arms pinned behind her on some kind of modified version of a mental hospital bed. All she needs is one free hand and she can do some damage. If she can calm the fuck down and concentrate.

He’s chomping on a piece of gum and she wonders if he’s given up toothpicks in favor of a slightly more upscale oral fixation. He does clean up nice. Real nice.

“Where’s my buck knife?” he asks, flicking the pointy end of his new blade under the edge of his thumbnail.

His old hunting knife? She sort of thinks of it more as hers than his since she appropriated the thing. She wasn’t carrying it on her in the casino – that would have been the dumbest fucking thing ever – but she becomes aware she’s missing a few things of her own.

They already strip-searched her, goddamn it, and this means he has her casino chips and her room key, not that he can tell the number by the key card.

And her underwear is missing if her senses are correct. Which they are. The perverted bastard.

Her face heats into an uncontrollable flush and she bares her teeth. “Where’s my fucking underwear?”

He shoots her a wolfish grin and pats the pocket of his suit jacket.

_Dammit, fuck, how long was I out?_

Her wrist loosens a touch, and she lifts a brow at his knife. “What are you gonna do with that five inches of nothin? Hardly enough for me to feel a thing,” she taunts.

“Oh, I expect I’ll _penetrate_ you deep enough when the time comes,” he drawls back. He licks his lips drawing her attention to the full shape and luscious color. No man should be allowed to have a mouth like that.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods, sugar?” he invites, casually resting the point of his blade just under her right eye socket. The threat is not subtle. With the smallest bit of pressure, any slip of the grip at all, her eye is gone.

She glares, practically daring him to do it. She’s stared down bigger blades under worse odds.

He doesn't budge for what feels like an eternity, but after observing her utter lack of fear with cold, scientific meticulousness, he eventually moves away. He sounds impressed when he grunts, “Not afraid of a knife, huh?”

“I’m not afraid of _you_ ,” she retaliates.

“Oh, I don’t believe that.” His laconic chortle echoes through the small room and whispers along her nerves, making her mouth go dry and her pussy wet. “I think you are about as ‘fraid as it gets. Ain’t that why you ran?”

He looms close enough she can feel the heat of him. Instead of the knife pressing close, now it’s his mouth, right next to her ear, breathing hot, minty air on her neck and sending melting tingles all the way to her toes.

“Ain’t this why you ran, sweetheart?” he asks again. She feels a warm, wet swipe and resists the urge to moan or beg him to stop.

It’s what he wants. Begging. He gets off on the power of it.

She ought to know.

So she zips her lips, come hell what may, and looks anywhere but at him.

This doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact, nothing seems to rattle his cool disposition, and it occurs to her he’s in his element here, and she isn’t exactly poised for advantage.

She might _– just might_ – be slightly outclassed. Temporarily. Until she can work her hands loose.

“Who were those guys? They have to wrangle your women for you cause you can’t do it yourself?”

Suddenly, she is livid at the thought of him pursuing his little _hobby_ as he used to call it, while she’s spent the past two years pining and hardly killing anyone at all. And even if she did leave him, she kept away from other men, at least sexually, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty or somethin’.

In all truth, killing’s sorta lost its shine since they parted.

“You let that red-haired piece of shit put his hands on me? And the other one, too?”

“Nobody touched ya but for me.”

“Yeah, sure,” she huffs.

“That was me in the elevator. I swear.”

“Well, you got me with your needle and I gotcha with my dart. So I guess we’re even.”

“Tit for tat, sugar. It’s what I have in mind.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well. Karma, I guess. Or paybacks for quite a few sleepless nights. And a fair heap of frustration, as well, I suppose.”

“Revenge? That’s your plan?”

“That’s my plan.”

“Fuck you.”

“Also the plan.”

Instantly furious over his absolute refusal to rise to her baiting, she hawks a glob of spit at him, though she misses, dammit. But this seems to do the trick and cracks his ruthlessly frosty exterior.

In an instant, his eyes turn obsidian and drill into hers. It’s fairly ominous when added to the palpable menace already in the atmosphere. 

“You have no idea who the fuck I am, do you, baby girl?” He grips her face – fuck, she forgot how huge his hands are – and forces her to meet his stare. Like the hunter he is, he sights in on her over his hawk-like nose, long and elegantly shaped.

“Who the fuck you _are_? How about I don’t fucking care?” She’d spit again, but she's fresh outta spit and her heart is racing, especially when his lip twitches into an almost smile.

“I said I’d hunt ya down, and I’ll admit, I was tempted to run after ya right when you took off. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t put off work any longer. But, _after._ Oh, I looked for you. Everywhere. I know you’re clever and good at hidin’, even if you ain’t so great at coverin’ your kills. Thought it would be easier to find ya if I paid attention to the news…but I never did manage to run you down. So I came back here, holed up for a bit. Was fixin’ to get back on the road soon and try again, when, lo and behold, who did I see on my little security feed just now?”

“Was it me?” she grits out sarcastically.

He chuckles. “I always do prefer it when they come to me.”

She _humphs_ and keeps working on her restraints.

“Anyone dumb enough to get caught up in my web, I reckon is dumb enough to die.”

“Well then why don’t you just stop yackin’ and kill me already?”

He gives her a molasses-sweet grin, slow and dripping equal parts sugar and venom.

“Let me loose,” she commands once again, refusing to put even a touch of pleading into it.

“Let you _loose_?” he mocks lightly. “Why in heaven’s name would I do that when you’re so close to doin’ it yourself? I expect you’re about twenty-five seconds away from wriggling outta them straps, ain’t ya?”

Dammit, she _is_ about twenty-five seconds away.

It occurs to her she’ll never take him by surprise like this. He’s onto her now, knows she’s sneaky and fast…and she has no leverage, no weapons, no muscle compared to his. As if to prove that point, his biceps flex and bulge against his navy-blue suit jacket and she bites her lip. No, she’s no match against him strength-wise.

But maybe…

She softens her tone and expression and wets her lips. He’s eating it up, those whiskey-pretty eyes crawling all over her. And it strikes her rather bluntly that she missed him.

“You really took my underwear again? Is that like…like your thing?”

Like his _serial killer_ thing, she means.

“Nah. That ain’t my ‘thing’. I’m no scavenger.”

He jabs his blade into the wall, next to a few dozen marks that look suspiciously as if he’s done this a time or two before. Every muscle in her body tenses when he shrugs out of his suit jacket and her heart rate kicks up a notch at the sight of a double holster strapped under his arms, along with the empty sheath for his dagger. She can’t hide the briefest flash of greed when she sets her eyes on his guns, a matched set of Glocks that look pretty deadly, even if she ain’t scared of his knife.

He walks behind her, and she works quickly to free herself. She’s almost there when he comes back into view. The holster’s off, he must’ve hung it up with his jacket. But he yanks his dagger out of the wall, and the act gives her pause.

One wrist slips from its restraint, and she forces herself to hold still and wait till he’s close enough to rake with her nails. Claw those pretty eyes right outta his head.

But he doesn’t step any closer. He just watches and occasionally glances to the wall behind her. Her other wrist slides free, and he growls, “You _are_ a clever little thing, ain'tcha?”

There must be a mirror behind her and he can see… _Shit_. “Clever enough.” 

“No. Not _near_ clever enough.” 

He moves slow, communicating nothing less than a pure, lethal desire to devour her, and leans close, pressing the point of his dagger to her throat and sliding a warm, heavy hand up the inside of her thigh. She holds off attacking since she doesn’t much care for the idea of getting her windpipe punctured.

“Now, darlin’, by my way of figuring, you have nigh on two years of payback comin’ before you get anywhere close to leaving me again. And I have to tell ya, I’m really gonna enjoy takin’ my pound of flesh outta your hide.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “So, you’re gonna torture me, then?”

“I’m gonna make you scream yourself hoarse if it’s the last thing I do." An evil twinkle lights his eyes. "I guess…if you’re interested in my _thing_ …that might just be it,” he mutters. “Makin’ ya holler.” 

"Well…I suppose that's fair." And she knows, down to the marrow of her bones, he'll never hurt her. She breaks into a grin and recklessly plunges her fingers into his lovely, silky hair. “Miss me, daddy?”

He plants a hard, hot kiss on her mouth, scorching enough to melt her guts into a puddle.

“I did, sugar. I surely did. Now shut the fuck up. I'll make ya scream all ya want. Later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure I will be able to finish this tale in light of my googling "double-holstered Glock" and "mental hospital restraints" in the same day as "how deep does a stab wound need to be to puncture the human heart?" 
> 
> Yeah. Pretty sure my FBI agent is gonna be knocking down the door any day now...
> 
> ...but on the off chance I make it, I sincerely hope you enjoy what comes next. *saucy wink*
> 
> XOXO!!!
> 
> P.S. And yes, I know my inbox is at apocalyptic levels of full...let's see if we can't cram a few more in there before I stop avoiding the inevitable, shall we? I'm truly enjoying all of your reactions and speculation. <3


	10. The Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I Saw Her Standing There, The Beatles](https://open.spotify.com/track/3KiexfmhxHvG5IgAElmTkd?si=_91dnijrQK-_3wzQeyYL5w)   
>  [Sorry, The Easybeats](https://open.spotify.com/track/1N7VlZoWl5EIa3XG2nK1tO?si=Kp26BthRSuOIAoHxdV69-g)

Delightful moodie by [@plasmamullet](https://twitter.com/plasmamullet)!

# The Heat

“You’re so angry with me.” She clutches at his shoulders while he bends to free her legs.

“Yep.”

She bites her lips together and lets him finish what he’s doing before she asks, “What happened to your gum?”

“Spit it.”

She wants to ask him more, keep him talking, but he’s running his palm back up the inside of her leg and under her skirt and his dagger is back at her throat. And he’s got a murderous gleam in his eyes.

“You really gonna kill me?” she whispers, only partly teasing.

“Not _just_ yet.” His tongue sweeps gently over his bottom lip, drawing her attention. She can feel him prodding under the hem of her dress, and she studies his expression, trying to discern how much of his scowl is directly related to her turning up out of the blue after all this time and how much is just him in general.

“You shaved.” The observation is more a place-filler than anything, and she blushes for making such an obvious remark, and clearly off-topic, too. She presses her palm over his raspy-smooth cheek, already shaded with a touch of five o’clock shadow.

With his face cleanshaven, she’s more than a little riveted by the sculpted hollows under his high cheekbones and the beauty marks on his face, all of it more prominent without the distraction of whiskers.

He’s terribly handsome. It must be very effective bait.

His exploring fingers reach their destination. “You shaved your pussy.”

“I was planning on going swimming later,” she explains, wondering if he’s worried she shaved for someone else.

His finger tickles and slips against her sensitive flesh, and she exhales on a soft groan. Fuck, his touch is a goddamn treat.

No. It’s a full-course meal, dessert included.

“What about you…why’d you shave?”

“Had to. Boss has a dress code.”

“Does he?” she murmurs.

“What’d you do with that chainsaw?” he croons, stroking a thick finger against the slippery lips of her sex.

“Pawned it.”

He nods and watches her a minute, caressing between her legs as languorously as if he’s got all day. Which she supposes he does, seeing as they’re locked in this room and she doesn’t know the way out.

His prodding becomes more insistent and the sharp point of his dagger pricks her neck.

“I oughtta bend you over my knee and take my belt to your bare ass. You have any idea what I went through every time I’d hear somethin’ on the news? They almost caught ya a few times, and in case you didn’t already know, I'm guessin' you’ve done a fair bit of crimes deservin’ of the death penalty, baby girl.”

She does know it, but she doesn’t particularly care right now. Her eyes are trapped in his whiskey-honey gaze and whatever emotion is behind it. She can tell he was damned concerned. It makes her heart thump.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, arching into his hand. “I’m…I just ain’t no good for you. That's all. Plutt always said I was a worthless whore and–”

This is the wrong thing to say, and his lips curl back to bare his teeth. Damn, he has a temper and double-damn if it isn’t _quite_ a turn-on.

“Fuck that dirty bastard! You think I belong in the same category as that worthless piece of trash?”

 _Ooooh, he’s mad and riled up, now._ And if that doesn’t make her wanna poke the bear, nothing does.

Until he asks, “Why’d ya leave? I thought we had an understandin’?”

“I got scared,” she whispers, toying with the edge of his collar and peeking up through her eyelashes to see if this enrages him even more. He’s scowling fit to kill, but his fingers are still moving on her and the dagger eases back a fraction of an inch.

“I don’t believe you’re scared a nuthin’.”

“Well, I am. I _was_. That night.” She’ll just have to blurt it out since he ain’t letting up. “You…ought to know so’s you don’t get your heart set on havin’ something I can’t give you. There’s something broken in me. I’m damaged goods. It’s better if I’m alone.”

“I don’t believe that neither.”

“Well, it’s true. Plutt always said–” His eyes burn black at the mention of ol’ Plutt in the second time in under a minute, though, so she changes course. “I was scared ‘cause I thought I knew myself better than that. Only when I’m with you, I don’t feel like myself at all. But maybe I feel more like me than I ever did, too.”

“That’s just our souls recognizin’ each other, is all, I reckon.”

His words ring true, shooting rockets of terror and longing into her heart, but her fear is quickly burned away by the deadly fire in his eyes as he swoops in to kiss her again. Powerless to resist, she sculpts her hands over his neck and shoulders, thick with muscle and delightfully warm just like she remembers. He smells good, like clean laundry and just faintly of that indefinable _Vegas_ scent – sweat and sex and dirty money and cheap booze and stale cigarettes and dusty desert – and the combination makes her belly dance and flip with wild little flutters.

“You look real pretty all dressed up,” he murmurs, sucking her earlobe into his hot mouth until full-body chills ripple all the way through her. “I knew you would be.”

_Maybe just a little…maybe just one more time…_

He slides his dagger back into its sheath so he can keep fingering her, then he tugs the top of her dress down. Her nipples stiffen in the cool air. Gently, he cups a soft mound and mouths at a tender peak until she’s squirming and panting under his teasing caresses.

But she won’t beg. Never again.

Reading her mind, he smiles naughtily up at her and pulls a nipple between his teeth, sucking until his cheeks hollow and gently playing his tongue over the hard bud until a surge of wet coats his stroking fingers, making her moan at the blissful agony.

“You’ll say _please_ again,” he promises with way too much confidence. “Gonna make it my new mission in life.”

_You can try. I ain’t saying a goddamn thing. No way._

“You’re just resistin’ is all. It's all right. I always knew you was stubborn.”

Instead of answering, she sucks the side of his neck, licking and scraping her teeth gently over his skin to remind him exactly how much he likes her mouth…but at this angle, it’s terribly awkward, and her arms are getting weak from holding herself propped upright against him. It’s the most natural thing in the world to wrap her legs around his waist, and taking the hint, he lifts her and spins, crushing her into the wall in a sudden frenzy to kiss and lick and touch everything he can reach. He makes the most delicious throaty little grunts every time her tongue sweeps against his.

God, he tastes divine.

She glances to the side and catches their reflection in the mirrored wall, which he was ostensibly using to monitor her botched escape attempt just now. His arms are trembling a bit - he's zinging with adrenaline, like her - and just when she’s beginning to wonder if there’s anything better than all that hard, hot muscle pressing her into the wall, he pushes his crotch against hers and rubs against her.

“Fuck, I don’t think it’ll take much to set me off,” he gasps against her neck. “Been a while.” She catches his gaze in the mirror and for some reason, this makes everything a million times hotter.

“Been a while since you done this?” she asks his reflection. 

“Not since you.”

“Me too. I mean,” she cups his jaw in her palm and turns his face to hers so she can tell him sincerely, “I haven’t…with anyone else, either. Not since you.”

An arrogant grin slides across his face and he attacks the side of her neck with a series of searing-hot kisses that render her speechless. Suddenly ravenous, he claws at her dress, shoving the skirt over her hips.

“Undo my pants,” he grunts. “Gonna fuck you here and now so you remember who you belong to…and then we’re goin’ upstairs so I can get you in my bed and flat on your _back_. Right where you belong.”

She digs her fingertips into his shoulders and nips at his pretty mouth, warning him to mind his manners, but she scores her nails down to the waistband of his pants, untucking his t-shirt and pushing beneath so she can feel his skin.

“…hurry, baby. Wanna be inside you.”

She hurries, and when she touches the hard length of his arousal and gives him a few rough strokes, pure electricity snaps up her spine.

He lifts her and she arches, so fucking wet he pushes in on one hard stroke that steals her breath.

They cry out together and the power of it, of them, sort of shatters her. It’s unavoidable, irrevocable. It’s gravity, that brief moment of fusion.

“I fuckin’ _missed_ you,” he scolds, bouncing his hips until she’s skewered on him like a piece of meat on a stick.

And dammit, he shouldn’t be so open about his feelings, or it’s only gonna scare her off again, doesn’t he know that?

She can’t exactly get up and leave, so instead, she glares and sets her index finger across his lips. “Hush yourself.” But he only sucks her finger and growls. His thumbs dig into her knees, pushing her back until her head knocks into the wall and shoving her legs apart so he can bang into her even harder. She sneaks a glance in the mirror and so does he, unabashedly watching himself fuck her against the wall.

“You like that? Watchin’?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she moans, unable to tear her eyes off the sight of them. Fuck, he’s so much bigger than she is.

His hips start pumping and she holds on for dear life with her legs open wide, moaning with every jarring thrust until her eyes fall to half-closed. But she won’t shut them all the way. No, she wants to watch his cheeks grow flushed and the sweat sheen on his forehead. She pushes his t-shirt up so she can look at his abs and lower, where he’s moving between her legs, taking her over until there’s nothing between them but the smell of sex and the lewd sound of their wet bodies smacking together and her soft cries and his throaty hums and the _heat_ , that yummy, bone-melting friction, crawling through her veins like a brush fire.

“Your little cunt is so fuckin’ perfect. _Goddamn_.”

Her breathing is getting erratic and she can feel that divine twisting pull that makes her grip the biceps bunching and flexing under her fingers and clench her pussy on that perfect hard, hot flesh spearing into her, made even hotter by the fact he can’t seem to resist glancing over to the mirror every now and then.

“…don’t stop…oh, fuck, just like _that_ …”

His eyes light up like the Devil in a room full of sinners and he gives her a rough jostle that rattles her teeth. She whimpers, and he pounds her into a sweaty mess with a savage, steady roll of his hips.

“You gonna _beg_ me, sweetheart?”

“No! Just…don’t stop.”

“What if I do?”

“I’ll fuckin’ gut ya, I swear to God, I will,” she pants furiously.

He bounces her harder. “I’m not scared a you.”

She gropes around and yanks his dagger from its sheath.

“Well, _hell_ …” His eyes take on a playful glint over the raised stakes, but he ignores the blade at his ribs and sinks his teeth into the side of her neck until she squeals and thrashes against him. She drops the knife so she can stick her hands under his t-shirt and claw at his back.

“Just ‘cause I plan on forgivin’ ya eventually, you’re still in a world a trouble, you know that?”

“Yeah…”

He glares and snarls, “ _Do_ you?”

“Yeah,” she whimpers. “Fuck!”

“You got _punishment_ comin’. I’m gonna tear you apart for what you done.” He delivers every threat with a toe-curling thrust. “Gonna make sure you don’t even _think_ of running off… _ever_ again.”

“…okay…” she gasps, diving in for a kiss until her body finds that tension and she’s close, so close… "…don’t stop…”

Whatever he’s doing, the angle or the depth or the hard, slippery length of him hammering every thought she ever had straight out of her head…or maybe _all_ of it mixed together is just so gloriously tight and hot and dirty, she groans and chases it down, that exquisite, filthy heat between her legs _, close, so fucking close…_

Shifting her thighs, he breathes, “Fuck, I’m gonna come, baby. You first. Go on.”

She’s already there, falling apart, slipping into that scorching-hot vortex of endless, clutching pleasure. His mouth crashes down on hers and she knows he’s following right behind her, coming hard enough to make his whole big body shudder and quake. She falls limp against the shockwaves, and a strangled moan rumbles from his chest.

He holds her pinned for half a minute or so while they catch their breath and exchange a few soft kisses.

“Your face is bright red,” he advises her, quietly mocking. “You look like you been rode hard and put to bed wet.”

She rolls her eyes and he carefully slips free and sets her unsteady feet to the floor. Her legs wobble and a wet gush of cum slides down her thigh, making her clutch her dress between her legs and look around a bit frantically for a clean tissue or handkerchief or something.

Looking on in amused silence, he gingerly tucks himself back into his boxers and does up his pants.

All their kissing has smudged her lipstick over his mouth – red to match her dress – and for some reason it’s sexy as hell, him being marked by her. She runs her fingers through his hair and musses it some more, deciding she wants him to look as thoroughly fucked as she feels.

They’re both a mess and there’s no hiding it.

“I need somethin’ to eat,” she informs him, refusing to admit that he just scratched an itch she didn’t even know she had.

And it strikes her once again that he’ll never hurt her, not really. If he were going to, he’d have done it already, back when he chloroformed her or later, in Jakku, or even in that motel room in Niima when he had her on her knees.

Nah, he’s not going to hurt her, at least not take her life or dish out any hurt she doesn’t have coming.

He might be gruff and cocky and domineering, but she can tell deep down he’s glad she’s all right, just pissed it took her so long to figure out they belong together.

“I’m sorry.” She’ll never say _please_ , but maybe _sorry_ isn’t too hard on the tongue. Or the pride.

Because that’s what’s _really_ scary. Not that he’ll cut her or choke her or make her dead. No, it’s knowing he can kill her if he ever rejects her. But she doesn’t think he will.

“Sorry’s not gonna get you out of your punishment, sweetheart.” He glowers and she returns it with a beaming smile, threading her fingers through his hair until he pulls her close and mumbles, “All right. We’ll getcha some food and a shower, too. But then I’m cuffin’ you to my bed for at least a week until you learn what’s good for ya. And then maybe after that, I’ll take ya out on the town. Vegas has plenty of opportunity for the pair of us.”

She arches a brow. _Out on the town?_ Now that’s a damned exciting idea. Suddenly her belly is flip-flopping again at the notion of being out and about with Ben. Or Kylo. Or whatever he wants to call himself, so long as he’s hers.

But first–

“Wait. Did you say a _whole_ week?”

“Sure did.”

He pops in a fresh piece of gum and gives her a wink and her knees go weak.

Just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do ya'll have any idea how hard it is to write bad grammar good? 
> 
> Your comments and tweets from last chapter SLAYED me. Hope ya liked the smut. *winks* I'm thinkin' I can work a little more into this one. 
> 
> XOXO......


	11. The Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [All Day and All of the Night, The Kinks](https://open.spotify.com/track/78JmElAFmrPNhLjovDR9Jm?si=Avg0mHiDQRuaPN8thZ5HoQ)   
>  [Happy Together, Gerard Way, Ray Toro](https://open.spotify.com/track/0n0XAmYCMWlzj3W9VdMejw?si=OSU7eOxaTcW-FWxebbMNrA)

Lovely moodboard by [@EmilyFiction](https://twitter.com/EmilyFiction)!

# The Take

Sure enough, he drags her out of that little room and down a corridor and back into the double elevator, gripping her arm hard enough to leave a bruise until she smacks his rock-solid chest and he eases up a tad.

But he doesn’t let up entirely. He's taking her back through the casino, and she's practically jogging to keep up with his long-legged stride. They enter a different elevator and a few resort guests join them. The other riders disburse at their floors, and she realizes he intends to take her all the way to the top.

“Your room?”

“Yep.”

The door slides open into a small foyer, but there’s only one other door she can see, and he pushes her through it none too gently.

She catches a brief sense of shiny, expensive _everything_ in a muted palette to match the Nevada desert and an almost monk-like lack of décor. Still, this place has a lived-in feel that hotel rooms tend to lack.

This isn’t some random hotel room. No, he lives here.

“What are you, rich?”

“Yep.”

His jaw flexes as he chews his gum and eyes her with unrepentant lust and way too much cocksure audacity, as if he knows something she don’t. They give each other a good once over, seeing how they didn’t give themselves much of a chance for it earlier. They had some other stuff to get outta their systems, first.

She kind of wants to jump on him, but just then her stomach lets out an unholy rumble, and his mouth turns into an amused sulk.

“What do you wanna eat, baby?”

She blinks at him. “What, like, anything I want?”

“Sure.”

It takes her a few minutes to decide. The way he’s working that piece of gum is such a turn-on and she’s trying to figure out just why that is. It’s distracting.

“Um. How about a club sandwich and some macaroni and cheese?” she rattles off. “And a Coke? And a piece of chocolate cake.”

"Anything else?"

His sarcasm is beyond aggravating, so she says coolly, "Yeah. Some shrimp cocktail. And a lobster."

“You ever eat any vegetables?” he drawls. 

“I eat vegetables!”

“I ain’t never seen it.”

“Well, I guess there’s plenty you ain’t seen!” His teasing riles her temper even more, but she’s mollified when he picks up a phone and orders her food exactly as she requested, lobster and all.

_Damn. He’s got room service and everything. Fancy._

“Well, now what?” she asks when he hangs up. She’s sticky and half-horny and more than half worried about her stuff, still disappeared after he knocked her out and then woke her up and fucked her silly.

“You go on and take a shower. Bathroom’s through the bedroom on the right. I gotta make another call. Work stuff.” He winks to lighten the fact he’s obviously trying to get rid of her, but she allows it, since a shower sounds real good.

“What about my stuff?”

“It’s safe, baby. Ain’t nobody gonna take it.”

Doubtful, she lifts a brow.

“I promise. No one’s gonna touch your stuff. Or they’ll answer to me.”

Figuring he must be someone of consequence around here, she shrugs and heads through the bedroom as directed, lightly closing the door behind her so she can snoop through his drawers and closet without interruption. She doesn’t find anything but clothes, and expensive ones at that, alongside other, more blue-collar type clothes like the ones he wore truck driving, jeans and flannels and t-shirts.

The brief glimpse she caught of his boots earlier told her they are custom made and probably cost a few grand. He’s got money, just like he says. He lives here in this fancy suite with marble floors and a wall of windows that opens onto a private patio with a swimming pool and a massive flat screen TV in every room. And room service, too.

While she finishes poking through his drawers, she wonders about the boss with the dress code and just what exactly it is Ben does for the man.

Inevitably, the shower beckons, even if she doesn’t find a weapon.

Like everything else in this penthouse, the bathroom is extravagant and luxurious and expensive, from the shiny fixtures to the buffed marble to the extra-soft luxury towels and linens. Nothing much she can use for a weapon in here, either, though she does discover a stash of very lovely bath soaps and hair products and a razor and Ben’s toothbrush, which she doesn’t hesitate to avail herself of.

His robe is enormous on her but thick and fluffy and it makes her smile to think of murderous, rough-edged Ben owning such a comfortable, frivolous thing.

In no time at all, she’s scrubbed herself clean and, since her dress has dried cum all over it and she doesn’t have any underwear, – he took hers, the pervert, and she really ought to put a stop to it – she borrows a t-shirt of his. It’s too big and hangs past her hips, but it smells _divine_. She locates a pair of boxer shorts, which also hang on her, but it’s something.

She’d keep his robe on, but something tells her she’s going to want to be unencumbered when she encounters him again. That warning about a spanking is still rattling around the back of her head like a loose marble. He sounded like he meant business, and she prefers to have full range of motion so she can set him straight if need be.

She finds him in the living room, sprawled on the sofa, just as room service arrives. The server lays out dish after dish on the coffee table while Rey climbs into Ben's lap and gives him a thorough kiss.

“You used my toothbrush, didn’t ya?” he grumbles.

“I did.” She noses at a spot under his ear. “I figured we already swapped germs back in that little room downstairs, so it don’t matter much.”

He doesn’t say anything to counter her, just rumbles to the room service maid to have a fresh toothbrush sent up for the lady.

“Yessir, Mister Ren,” the young woman says, and Rey gives her the side-eye. She’s pretty and looking just a bit too overawed in Ben’s presence. Or _Mister Ren_ , as she called him. “Anything else I can get you, sir?”

“Nah. Thanks, Kaydel.”

Ben’s not even looking at the other girl anymore, so Rey decides to let it go when she leaves without another word. But she remembers the name just in case. _Kaydel_.

“She sure thinks you’re a treat.” A hint of jealousy comes through and she narrows her eyes.

“Aren’t I?” he smirks, pulling her close for another mouthwatering kiss until her stomach rumbles again.

The scent of food beckons, and Rey bounces out of his lap for a chance to lift the little domes over the plates. Suddenly she’s starving.

For a few minutes, she doesn’t speak and just digs in. The sandwich is good, and the mac and cheese is _lovely_ , all cheesy and warm and melty. She tries the shrimp but it's not her favorite and she has no idea what to do with the lobster. She gulps half her Coke and burps and giggles when Ben shakes his head and calls her a mannerless heathen. But he's smiling indulgently and her heart skips a beat. 

She looks at the enormous slice of cake and decides to save it for later, plopping the cover back on and asking casually, “Did you fuck that girl? Kaydel?”

“Nah. She’s new. And I already said you’re the only one I been with since ya left me. Though I still intend to take my belt to your butt.”

“You’re still mad?”

“Oh, yeah. That I am. Tanning your hide sounds mighty appealing right about now.”

 _Oh, hell, no. I don’t think so, daddy._ “You’re not settin’ a finger on me.”

“The hell I’m not,” he grins easily. He’s so fucking arrogant. She wonders if he’d still be so cocky if she tosses the rest of her Coke in his face.

No. There’s a better way to deal with this one. Instead of dousing him with cola, she crawls back into his lab and straddles his thighs and sticks her tongue in his mouth. He kisses her back, hands roaming everywhere and tongue sliding so hot against hers it makes her head spin.

Shit, it’s disarming how _yummy_ he is. Until she remembers he means to spank her. 

This thought inspires her to pull his dagger on him again. She'd have tried for one of the Glocks, but he has 'em snapped into his holsters good and tight. 

Instead of reacting, he just grips under her arms and sets her to the side.

Her jaw drops when he stands up and ambles over to a tall side table, and she wonders what his game is, sure he'd have tried to turn her over his knee by now.

She could probably take him from behind, but that hardly seems sporting, considering he’s not even looking her way. No, he’s just stripping off his jacket and his holsters, only shooting her a pointed look when he unloads his Glocks and sets them and their ammo clips on the table separately.

“Best if I just remove temptation altogether, eh, baby?”

“What, are you afraid I'll shoot you?”

“Nah. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“Except for that hiding you keep threatenin’ that ain’t never gonna happen?”

“Well, I reckon I care for ya, and you need to learn how I feel, baby girl.”

“Pfft.”

He cracks his neck, a ferocious glint in his eye, and she jumps up from the couch, dagger at the ready.

Clearly, he’s intending to pounce, watching her eyes, not the dagger.

A brief smirk quirks his pretty mouth. “Shouldn’t hold your knife like that, sugar, or you’re gonna lose it. You wouldn’t want some bad guy like me to get his hands on it, now would ya?”

Fast as lightning, he lunges, and she raises the blade to jab it in him, but damn if he isn’t right, and he knocks it out of her grip before she knows it.

This just makes her mad as a hornet.

Especially when he swipes the dagger off the floor and instructs, “Hold it like this. An extension of your arm, see? Gives ya more reach.” He shows her what he means, and she’s unwillingly drawn to his demonstration, curious.

He flips the blade and hands it back to her handle first, circling like a tiger in a cage.

“Come in low and smooth, not overhead. Keep the blade closer to your body. Make me come to you. Throw me off balance.”

She glares, positive this is a trick somehow. He just moves his gum to the other side of his mouth, a quick shift of the lips and a brief, wolfish flash of teeth, before waving her forward with a condescending scoop of his fingers. Insulting her on purpose.

All she sees is red, and that’s never a good thing. But she stays put.

Her eyes drop to his belt, which he unbuckles and slides free from his slacks. He wraps it into a loop and makes a wicked snapping sound that sends adrenaline rocketing through her until her fingertips tingle.

He’s holding that damned belt like he knows how to use it.

Her voice goes low and mean. “I said. You’re not putting a hand on me.”

“Oh, I think I am,” he breathes, eyes glinting obsidian. “I’m puttin’ my hands _all_ over you. But first I’m gonna blister that little ass raw. See if I don’t.”

He gives his belt a lazy whirl as if he’s loosening up his wrist, and she snarls, “You don’t get to punish me. You got no right!”

“Then why do you keep callin’ me _daddy_?” He’s baiting her, the infuriating sonofabitch.

But he’s circled to the opposite side of the room and he doesn’t have a gun, and she has his dagger. Knife trumps belt, for sure. That’s just common fuckin’ sense.

And she’s been practicing with his hunting knife – a _buck_ knife, he calls it – not that the last two dirtbags she took out with it would much know or care about the difference in terminologies.

It’s hard to care about such distinctions when you’re bleeding out in the back street behind the neighborhood bowling alley or with your throat cut, parked at the local teenagers’ makeout spot down by the reservoir.

She never was much for knifing a man but she needed the practice. And they picked her up and gave her a ride, fair and square.

And of course, they tried to put their hands on her.

They always do, and she’s beginning to lose her already sorely tested faith in humanity, truly. At least in the half that does their thinking with their peckers.

She makes a jab at him, ignoring his earlier advice, and it’s as if he is waiting for her to do just this. Fast as a striking rattlesnake, he delivers a stinging chop to her forearm, making it go numb and sending his dagger to clatter back to the marble tiles.

With a leisurely sweep of his booted foot, he kicks the blade across the room, and he cocks his brow as if to punctuate his earlier warning.

“Told ya.” He chomps his gum and paces around her.

“I’m gonna put your ass in a casket for that.”

“I don’t think so,” he mocks.

But she’s already yanking a lamp from its place on the table behind her and hurling it at his head. It woulda hit him, too, goddammit, except it was plugged in and that sort of messed up the trajectory.

She’s already jumping out of the way when he lunges again, his expensive boots crunching over broken glass and twisted metal, and she’s barefoot, so she hurdles over the back of the sofa and trots to the phone, yanking the receiver from the base dangling by the the spiral cord.

“I will clock you upside the head, I swear to God.” She spins the phone’s earpiece from one end of the cord, forcing him to keep his distance.

But again, he’s too fast and he flings his belt to the side and snags the earpiece right outta the air and tugs on it, hard. Instead of letting go, she runs at him and shoves him hard in the chest, letting both of their momentum do all the work for her. He whirls to the side to keep his balance, but she’s already jumped on his back like a spider monkey and has the cord wrapped around his thick neck, twisting until his face turns purple and he chokes.

“How’s that, daddy?” she gasps. “You were sayin’?”

The only way he can get her off him is to turn and smash her into the wall, which he does, hard enough to knock some fancy-looking painting to the floor and kick the air out of her lungs.

Fuck, he’s tough.

And now he definitely looks pissed off.

“Now I’m gonna lick ya twice,” he grunts. Shit. 

“It’s not happening.” She wishes she wasn’t so out of breath.

“Ah, hell, all right, then. I give up." He's breathing hard, too. "What say we just sit back down and finish lunch?”

“Okay,” she says, dropping her defensive stance after he does. She whips around and sprints for the door.

He gets close enough to get his arms around her, but she knows how to get out of this kind of hold, twisting in towards him instead of away, as one might instinctively want to.

He can’t hold her, especially when she jabs a sharp elbow into his solar plexus.

A blow like that would’ve dropped most guys, but not Ben Solo. Apparently.

No, this evil fucker just gives her a wicked grin and laughs, “You’re a slippery little bitch, I’ll give ya that.” He tries to snag her wrist and she twists it – again in the direction opposite of instinct, on an inward rotation, forcing him to break his hold. She backs into the middle of the room, avoiding the glass from the broken lamp.

He’s licking his chops like a hungry wolf and her pulse skitters under her ribs.

Dammit, he’s not goin’ down. This time she bolts for the door with everything she’s got.

Of course the fucking thing is locked, and he snags her t-shirt, but she slides through it with him hot on her heels.

But the elevator presents a real conundrum, and now she’s well and truly fucked.

He grabs her by the hair and hauls her back just as the door slides open to reveal an empty elevator car.

“Ooooh, _so_ close, baby,” he gloats. “You done yet?”

“Lemme go you fucking caveman!” she screeches, trying to kick him in the balls. But he just hauls her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carries her back inside and down the hall. She kicks out, but he lurches in warning, almost dropping her on purpose, the monster. He delivers a stinging slap to her butt that makes her eyes water and her vision go red.

Redder. 

She tries to twist away, but he swats her again and shifts until she’s hanging so precariously she doesn’t dare move or he’ll drop her on her head and splatter her brains all over the floor like a cracked egg.

He stops in the hall and paws through a drawer in the hall table until she hears a metallic jangle. Sounds like handcuffs.

“Now, I _know_ you didn’t have time to snoop around out here too, didya?”

“Fuck you!”

He clucks his tongue. “What do you think I’m trying to do?” He takes her into his room and sets her feet to the ground, standing her in front of him. If he gets those cuffs on her, she’s fucked, and there’s no fuckin’ way she wants another smack on the butt.

“I know you’re mad. But, I did say I was sorry,” she pants, instantly contrite.

“You did,” he admits. His whiskey eyes warm up a fraction, and he tosses the cuffs onto the bed behind him. She smiles at him, thinking he’s gonna let it slide.

She sidles closer and runs a palm over his chest. She wants those cuffs like nothing else, but she keeps a soft smile playing at her mouth, licking her lips and holding his gaze until his eyes turn dark, and he murmurs, “It means something that we came across each other after all this time. Don’t you think?”

_Ha. Putty in my hands._

“I do. It’s gotta be fate,” she whispers.

“I think so, too,” he purrs, his soothing tones in direct contradiction to the energy sizzling between them. She's very aware of those handcuffs on the bed, but he only sits and pulls her into his lap, so her back is to his chest and her legs are between his knees and her sore backside is nestled against his groin.

He starts kissing the side of her neck, and his long nose nudges at her jaw, hot breath teasing and tongue and teeth licking and nibbling and sending pure delight shivering across her skin.

“You wanna make up, sweetheart? Enough a this fightin’?”

“…yeah…” she sighs, giving over to that very pleasurable sensation of melting into him like hot fudge on a sundae.

“Okay. We’ll have a truce. Right after I whup ya.”

_Wait. What?_

She twists and tries to bite him and almost – almost! – takes a chunk out of his arm. But he’s obviously wrestled a woman into handcuffs before, and she’s not had anyone get the better of her for a while.

“You dirty, rotten liar!” she bellows.

Unperturbed, he traps her legs with his ankles and before she knows it, he’s slapped a cuff around her wrist, scrabbling for her other hand, too.

But she’s quick and even as he tries it, she yanks the other cuff away and snaps it around his own wrist.

_Long-chain, double-locking. Nice._

“Ah, hell,” he sighs against her neck, sucking until she knows she’ll have a hickey there come morning. “We shoulda stripped down, first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I am very excited for what is coming next...some smut and some murder and some other stufffffff....yeah! 
> 
> You may have noticed me starting to reply to some of your earlier comments, and I can proudly say I am working my way through my inbox and hope to be all caught up by 2025, lol. *wipes sweat from brow*
> 
> Seriously, though, you guys are just the best and I love you and your reactions and ooooohhhhh be looking for another Twitter poll soon....*winks*
> 
> xoxoxo!


	12. The Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Why Do Fools Fall In Love, Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers](https://open.spotify.com/track/6vL5Kx5LmZzcL12DZl2OiY?si=LHspmrUBRDyDq2ghWCs3Yg)   
>  [Psychotic Reaction, Count Five](https://open.spotify.com/track/5JcaA4A9ZoXthwEnxOxWvP?si=dovtLkv5R4WqOwbVRbmKQg)
> 
> Also, we have a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/46ef6LvnnoRF3xv6uarc7K?si=CuHs4TPvRcqgAIuqhiNZTA), now!

# The Key

“You right-handed?”

“Yep.”

Shit. So is she.

And he’s bigger, so unless she can outmatch him strength-wise, which she damned well can’t, then he’s got her beat.

As if to prove this very point, he drags her arm behind her. She feels him fumbling with his pants and she tries to stand up. He hauls her back into sitting on the edge of his bed between his spread thighs.

“Where you goin’?” he growls. “Nuh-uh.”

He resumes kissing her neck until her toes curl into the carpet and her breathing grows heavy and off-kilter. It’s easier to cling to his cuffed wrist for balance, and her other hand cups around his, sliding under her t-shirt.

“You said you’d come to Vegas with me if I helped ya back in Jakku,” he scolds in-between searing-hot kisses. “Said you made good bait and was a scrappy fighter. Then you left.”

He’s right. She does recall saying something to that effect.

“I _am_ sorry,” she admits, turning her head so she can see him. “I know I did say that.”

His dark eyes glint solemn and intense and full of obvious doubt, but he only grunts and ducks his face into her neck to give her collarbone a leisurely swipe of his tongue. “Yes, you did.”

He gives her a few hot, sucking kisses and his mouth is so warm and wet and lovely on her skin, it’s doing all kinds of things to her concentration. Distracted, she whispers, “Did you swallow your gum? That’s not good for you, you know.”

A low rumble of laughter escapes his chest and he murmurs in her ear, “Quit tryin’ to change the subject.” He looms big and solid and warm behind her and laces his long fingers through hers, linking their hands by more than just the cold handcuffs. “I don’t think you understand how serious I was that night.”

“What, when you said we’re two peas in a pod?”

“When I said you won’t like what happens after I catch ya if you ever run off.”

A frisson of alarm snaps along her already buzzing nerve endings, but nothing terribly threatening happens. His hand wanders low, past the waistband of her boxers to prod between her legs, and he doesn’t make any pretense of asking for permission. He already has it, by the way she widens her knees to give him room.

“Well,” she breathes, “you caught me…and I like what’s happening just fine… _mmmhhh_ …”

He presses her close, caging her body with his until she goes liquid against him, her head falling back to rest on his shoulder, exposing her throat to his hot, eager tongue…and when he bites her pulse point ever-so-gently and ratchets up the heat a bit more, she shivers. He inhales and purrs, “I caught ya fair and square. And now I mean to prove my point.”

“What point?”

Things get downright torrid when his plush lips meet hers. He lingers over the kiss, exploring her so meticulously she’s sure there’s nothing left in her where he hasn’t already been and now he’s just revisiting territory he already staked out ages ago. Like she’s known it deep down all along and he’s just reminding her.

“You’re mine. You just need to learn in your head what your heart already knows.”

“I'll try…” She twists back to meet him halfway and their kiss grows feral, teeth clashing, breath mixing until it feels like someone spilled straight diesel into her veins and set a lit match to the fuel. “Just…promise me somethin’.”

“Anything, baby.”

“Promise you won’t ever break my heart…I don’t think I could take it.” There it is, the truth, baldly laid out for him to see.

“Baby,” he croons, “I’d rather _die_ than hurt you. I swear it’s the truth.”

“Really?” She hates the tiny quaver that enters her voice.

“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart. I feel it, too.”

His fingers turn rough and impatient between her legs, and in a few abrupt motions she helps him get her shorts shoved past her thighs and his fly open.

“Still gonna beat your ass, though,” he warns, giving her bare pussy a squeeze before hauling her onto all fours and shoving her head into the mattress. “It’s the least you deserve, and you know it.”

He ain’t wrong, but she’s not one to go down without a fight, no matter how sweet he is. The air is already charged with equal parts heat and malevolence on the heels of their little exchange just moments ago, and her heart kicks into overdrive.

Rearing up, she tries to dislodge him, only to be thwarted by a massive paw dragging her right hand behind her back, forcing her to balance on her left.

She hears more than sees his amusement at her predicament.

“Ain’t you a sight?” He delivers a ringing smack to her rear end, and she squeals and turns to glare at him over her shoulder, outraged.

“Fuck you!” she bellows, her pride stinging more than her butt.

His brow wings up. “Ooooh, you better watch that mouth, sugar, or you’re only gonna draw this out. Now, this one’s for sassin’.” Biting his lip, he swats her again and he’s smirking, the jackass, and clucking his tongue, as if daring her to sass him again. “…and this one’s for runnin’…”

He smacks the other cheek and she grunts into the mattress, thinking better of calling him a depraved asshole, withholding the insult only by sheer, stubborn force of will.

“This one’s for takin’ my buck knife.”

_Smack!_

She roars, “Ow!” more because he’s getting such a kick out of this situation than anything. “You sick motherfucker!” She catches a glimpse of the erection tenting his boxers through his open fly. “Are you getting _off_ on this?”

“Yes I am. And this is for makin’ me worry about ya for two solid fuckin’ years. That was just mean.”

He’s getting warmed up now, and her ass is tingling after another handful of blows that bring tears prickling the backs of her eyes.

She sniffs, “I said I was sorry.”

She’s expecting another swat, but instead of spanking her, he grabs a handful of tender flesh and slides his thumb into the crack of her butt. She clenches up a little and he chuckles lewdly, “Since when are you so shy, baby girl? Or you just fakin’?”

“Ben…” she moans.

“What, baby?” His voice has gone all soft and husky and suddenly she just wants him again.

“Are you gonna shut up and fuck me?”

“What’s the magic word?” he teases.

“Fuck me. _Now_ ,” she demands, glaring over her shoulder and yanking on the cuffs until he crashes into her. He threads his fingers into hers, more a threat than tender gesture this time, and pins her cuffed hand next to her head.

“You still need a lesson in manners? All right.” With his free hand, he lines up his dick and slams into her hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

“Harder,” she moans. He goes harder, and it feels so fucking good she writhes under him, suddenly wanting nothing but to be crushed under the weight of all that warm, rippling muscle.

“Fuck,” he breathes, digging his fingers in and grinding his hips against her until she’s sure her ass is going to have bruises on it tomorrow. “How about that?”

“Mmmmhhhmm!” she groans into her arm and his fist tightens as he pumps into her again. He gives her another smack on the butt and she clenches more from shock than pain.

“Hot damn,” he exhales, long and drawn out this time. “You’re goddamn lucky I don’t have my belt right about now, or I guarantee you’d be beggin’.”

“Do it again,” she whimpers, sure this savage treatment is going to absolutely unravel her.

He does, giving her a heavy thrust followed by a swat and a groan.

“…more…” she sobs, dangerously close to begging and not giving two shits about it.

“Like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“…fuck, yeah…”

“Or this?” Every stroke is harder and faster than the one before it, punctuated by a stinging slap that makes her clench and him moan. That throaty growl gets her low in the belly. Every. Single. Time.

“…ow! Fuck! _More_ …”

His teeth sink into her shoulder just hard enough to make her clamp down, and he smacks her ass hard enough to rattle her teeth.

“You gonna say _please_? Huh?”

“No!” He spanks her again, and she hollers his name.

“…baby girl, you’re gettin’ my dick _so…fuckin_ … _wet_ ,” he chokes and it sends an electric zing ripping through her, knowing he’s as gone as she feels. “I _am_ gonna make you say it.”

“Ben…” she whines when he stops fucking her long enough to wrangle her wrists into one of his hands, trapping them and a fair bit of her hair to the bed.

He pulls out and she screeches and tries to clobber him, but he’s got her good and pinned down.

His chest heaves against her back, sweaty t-shirt rubbing against her skin and she wants to feel his skin on hers. Doesn’t he know she’s gonna die if he stops now? She wants, no _needs_ …ah, fuck it.

“Please…please…Ben, _God!_ ”

“Was that so fuckin’ hard?” he snarls.

And like flipping a magic switch, his movements grow savage, violent, until he’s pounding every single thought out of her head, pummeling her into the mattress and grinding her down and there’s nothing left but him.

“You need this cock in your cunt?”

“…mmmmhhh, _yes_ …” Her voice is getting all high-pitched and raspy and his gets lower, throatier, as he ruthlessly builds that friction, right where she needs it…

“You like it?”

“I fucking love it…” she slurs, drunk on pleasure.

“You _want_ it, don’t you? _Dirty_ girl…”

“Yes…”

Her spine buckles under his relentless onslaught, but he keeps going, straddling her legs, dragging her arm down and back so he can use both hands to brace himself and pound away. He wedges himself in until they're welded together, and right at that spot where their bodies join, flesh to flesh, she clings to him, her only anchor to reality, lost in the sweaty maelstrom – he was right, they should’ve stripped – and his heavy grunts and that delicious glide of his dick dragging between her thighs, slick and wet and sounding fucking _indecent_ every time they slam together.

“You wanna come?” he growls.

“Fuck, yes!”

“What do you say?”

“Please, _please_ …”

He gasps, low and loud, pitching her over the edge with a few calculated strokes over her clit until every part of her is vibrating with pleasure and filthy-hot contractions until she’s screaming his name and he’s bellowing _fuck!_ and spurting an obscene amount of cum in her cunt. It trickles hot and wet down her thighs and all over the bed.

His t-shirt is damp with perspiration and his hair too, as he half-collapses onto her, still gripping her hand for dear life, his whole, big, magnificent body trembling lightly against hers, and she never wants to leave.

* * *

His room reeks of sex, and he decides then and there if she ever runs away again things will probably have to end in a murder-suicide if and when he ever catches up to her. Because there’s not a chance in hell he’s going to get by on nothing but lonely rage fueling him ever again.

Not now, not after this.

It takes a grand total of six minutes to work himself up into fucking her again. After a bit of a shuffle, he yanks off his boots and socks and rolls her so they're face-to-face, their linked hands twisted over her head, her fingers digging into his forearm and her long, pretty legs wrapped around his hips. He takes his time this go-round, making sure to get her good and worked up again before slipping inside. She’s so sensitive to his touch it hardly takes any doing at all.

But he won’t pick up the pace until she swears over and over she’s his girl and ain’t planning to leave first chance she gets.

“You’re mine?”

“Yes.” She’s so pretty and wrecked and fucking _into_ it, what they’re doing.

“All mine?” he can’t resist asking, searching her face for the truth.

“Yeah, I swear.” Her cheeks are flushed bright red and she smiles, the tiniest bit, filling him with some all-consuming need to gobble her up.

“You ever gonna leave me again?”

“No, I won’t.”

“…cross your heart?”

“…and hope to die…”

“Better not be lyin’,” he growls in a voice ringing with menace. But he loses the rest of his train of thought when she drags her t-shirt – his t-shirt – up over her chest, flashing her tits. Braced on his elbow, he uses his free hand to pull the shirt over her head and he can’t help but dip his head and tug a perky nipple between his teeth.

He sucks and peeks up to catch her watching and flicks his tongue over the tight little bud until she arches her back and lifts her hips in perfect cadence to meet him, moaning his name and gabbling nonsense words and generally making a spectacle of letting herself get fucked into a sweaty little disaster.

He's lost, gone, and she feels so good, all soft and warm and sweet beneath him, like wet silk flexing around his dick until he can’t tell where he ends and she begins, and when that white-hot blade of pleasure twists low in his gut, he redoubles his efforts to make sure she knows for a fact they belong together.

This position is good to reinforce his point, since she can’t move around too much. Best of all she can look him in the eye when she orgasms this time, and fascinated, he watches her fall apart before he lets her stroke his chest and hold his shoulder and coax him into coming, too.

And afterwards, he’s grinning like a loon, lightly kissing her lips and nose and eyelids, unsure of just how much of what they just did qualifies as the punishment he promised.

“Mmmm, you’re mine for sure, seein' as I just wrecked the hell outta this pussy.” A hint of rebellion still flashes behind her eyes, but he ain’t too worried about it.

Might take a few days, but he figures it’ll be well worth the hassle once he wears her the rest of the way down and convinces her they’re a matched set and meant to be together from here on out.

From what he was able to piece together two years ago, he’s pretty sure Plutt and Teedo didn’t do much to learn her how to trust, and from what he guesses she’s been up to in the years before she met him and after, she probably only had those early lessons reinforced, not dismantled.

She finally passes out, snoring like a lumberjack with her mouth wide open, and he allows himself a measure of grim smugness. She can’t leave now, not even if she wants to.

He waits till he’s positive she’s totally conked out before hooking his pants with his big toe and pulling them within reach so he can fish out the key from the pocket and uncuff himself, threading one end of the long chain through the headboard before gently cuffing her other hand. He checks twice to make sure he double locks her, so there’s no way she’ll get loose.

She turns a bit, shifting her legs to settle against him, the bottoms of her feet tucked to the tops of his, a perfect fit. Careful not to wake her, he settles his palm into the dip of her waist, memorizing the shape and color of her lips, drinking in the sight of her silky, tangled hair spread across his pillow and of her curly eyelashes making little crescent shadows on her cheeks and admiring the freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose.

As he lies there listening to the even breathing of her in deep sleep, worry slips into his heart. He’s in a dangerous line of work, not to mention they both put themselves at quite a bit of risk on the regular, given they both have similar _extracurricular_ interests.

The thought of anything happening to her now, after all this time, it just don’t sit right with him.

He’s gotta start thinking of the future, of their future. He’ll need to teach her some fighting techniques, seeing as, though she’s fearless and scrappy as hell, she’s like to get herself killed if she goes balls-out every time. But he’s patient, if nothing else, and teaching her some tricks of the trade won’t be too much trouble. She’s smart and quick. She’ll catch on, so long as he takes his time and does things right.

His mother always did used to tell him anything worth doing is worth doing well.

And he's nothing if not good at what he does, so long as he sets his mind to the task.

* * *

True to what he promised in that little interrogation cell, he keeps her pretty well tied up for the next week, and though perhaps more metaphorically than actually. Still, she does spend a fair bit of the week handcuffed to his bed.

She doesn’t mind too much, even though he needs a bit of convincing to take the handcuffs off long enough for her to strip the t-shirt the rest of the way off and get up to pee and convince him to join her in the shower.

Someone cleans up the mess they made in the living room and someone else brings the stuff she had with her when he first spotted her in the casino, her dirty money and casino chips and even the stuff from her hotel room, though she never said what room she was in. But when she eventually emerges from his bedroom, she finds her clothes and gun and everything else in a tidy little stack on the coffee table, even his buck knife, all accounted for and no questions asked.

Her dress is mysteriously laundered and also returned, and although she never does manage to find her thong, several sets of new clothes show up along with the dress. She suspects Kylo keeps her underwear in his pocket, and for some reason this unspoken kinkiness secretly delights her.

After a day or two, she’s sure he’s involved with the mafia somehow, even if she has no idea what exactly it is he does. He’s forced to spend a bit of time in hushed phone conversations for “work” and though he doesn’t give her even a hint of what he’s talking about, she knows he’ll tell her anything she asks.

She doesn’t ask, though, knowing he’s been used to keeping to himself and if there’s something important she needs to know, he’ll tell her.

So, he feeds her whatever she wants to eat and hangs out in his fancy suits while she frolics naked in the swimming pool and lounge chairs on the patio outside in between long, lovely afternoons spent in bed. Inevitably, he has to leave the penthouse now and then, and though she assures him she has no intention of abandoning him again, each time he departs, she peeks out the door to find several armed guards standing by the elevator.

The first time she spies them, she’s a bit miffed and asks if the guards are there to keep her in.

“Don’t you trust me?”

But she’s satisfied when he replies, “Nah, them’s to keep you safe, sugar. There’s more’n a few fuckers out there who wouldn’t mind tryin’ to get to me by comin’ after somethin’ I hold dear.”

This revelation both soothes and alarms her. Not the idea of someone coming after her, but definitely the thought of him holding her dear.

But even if she wants to try to make a run for it again, which she doesn’t, the only other way out is down the fire escape, and that’s guarded, too. She has a feeling he won't like it if she kills off his guards, so she lets it slide and decides to enjoy the TV and the room service and general luxury, relaxing more than she’s ever done in her life. Which is great until she predictably gets lonely and restless.

Usually after a few hours at most he comes back, and when he does, she greets him every time with an enthusiastic hug and a kiss and no nosy questions, since he seems to be the kind of guy who appreciates a bit of peace and quiet.

He doesn’t spank her again after that first day, and she swears she learned her “lesson” though she suspects he wasn’t nearly as hard on her as he might have been.

He calls her “his girl” and "baby" and “sugar” and “sweetheart” and after a week passes, she feels like she’s known him forever, especially when he opens up a bit about his past and casually mentions a few of the things he’s done in pursuit of his little “hobby” as he calls it. None of it shocks her, especially seeing as she’s done worse, though he’s been doing it longer.

He mentions he has some experience in self-defense and he insists on showing her a few tricks with his buck knife, which he lets her keep after she assures him she will take good care of it, and a few more tips in hand-to-hand fighting. She takes him by surprise a few times, just to prove she’s not totally helpless, and he laughs when it happens, instead of getting mad. It seems to set his mind a bit more at ease, him knowing she can handle herself, even if it ever comes down to a contest of brute strength, she knows it will be damned near impossible to take him down.

Still, by the weeks’ end, she’s feeling fidgety and agitated and he seems moody and brooding, so she decides it’s finally time to mention it’s high time they get out and get some fresh air.

She knows all too well that he’s a natural predator, and it goes against his inclinations to stay cooped up all the time. He might claim to know what's best for her, but she knows what's best for him, too.

“And how do I know you ain’t anglin’ to run off again?”

“Cause I learned my lesson and I was dumb and scared and you set me straight, daddy,” she recites, kissing the tip of his nose.

He drags her close for a bone-melting kiss and she takes a minute to properly appreciate his ability to smooch her with gum in his mouth before she pulls back.

“Besides, you promised you’d take me shoppin’ and I ain’t never been to Vegas and I wanna have some fun.”

He chomps his gum and his eyes squint a smile, laced with just a hint of deadly anticipation. 

“Well, then. Let’s go have some fun, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the smut really got away from me on this one, and I know I hinted rather strongly we would be getting smut and shopping AND murder, but as we all know, I'm a huge liar. Next chapter, my loves!
> 
> You may also have noticed I'm getting to some replies, and I am slowly getting caught up, yay! I live for the comments, ya'll, and I feel like I really need to reiterate how much fun I'm having with this fic.
> 
> xoxoxo!


	13. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Good Woman, Maker](https://open.spotify.com/track/6yT3JyEkZIAy4I6Sc5rgW0?si=2J8nMN5GS-Wme44g36y3Tg)   
>  [Shakedown, Equal, Seja](https://open.spotify.com/track/6j9FFlKqiE2G01TuCC1Tn7?si=rXi_9lvBR9yUy89XMp0BqA)

# 

Thanks to [@hebola1010](https://twitter.com/hebola1010) for the fantastic moodie!

# The Hunt

It’s nearly impossible to concentrate with Rey in his lap, squirming against his crotch and kissing him with unabashed enthusiasm.

He’s pretty certain he’ll never get tired of it.

She’s been a real treat to come home to all week and about the only thing keeping him from flying into one of his dark, vengeful rages, especially what with everything that’s been going on at work.

He’s getting restless. And everyone’s just pissing him the hell off, even Snoke.

As if the mere thought of his boss conjures him, Kylo’s phone rings.

Rey draws back and pouts, “Do you have to answer that?”

But he’s already got the phone to his ear. He watches her pretty eyes darken with a touch of jealousy – his girl don’t like bein’ ignored, not one ounce – so he pets her arm and gives her a wink, listening intently to Snoke’s newest demands for drastic action.

_“Why aren’t you out hunting down that mole? We can’t just sit on it and wait for him to pop up. I want him found. Now.”_

“Yes, sir. Just gotta figure out where to start lookin’ is all.”

Rey huffs and pushes her bottom lip out, and he sort of just wants to chew on it. Instead, he caresses it with his thumb, which she promptly sucks into her delightful little mouth.

_“I don’t fucking pay you to leave loose ends and this has gone on long enough. That piece of shit DJ is holding out on me. I’ve heard rumors he’s connected or knows who is. You can start there.”_

“Well, I guess I can, at that,” Kylo replies agreeably.

Mesmerized, he pushes his thumb back at Rey’s soft lips, but she turns her head away, clearly annoyed he isn’t giving her his full, undivided attention. And he can’t have his baby girl getting all riled up at him, not when they finally worked some things through with each other.

_"Don’t disappoint me, Ren. Or certain comforts you’ve grown accustomed to may end up in a hole in the desert.”_

Energy sizzles through him, and his senses perk up to full alert.

_I’m gonna torture and kill you for saying that and count it a sheer fucking pleasure, old man._

“Well, I guess that sounds like a threat.”

_“Oh, good. We understand each other, then.”_

Actually, he’s kinda surprised he’s never thought of it before, killing Snoke. Usually, he just executes strangers or enemies, depending on the need and inclination. But right now, putting a bullet-sized hole in Snoke’s head is about the _only_ thing he wants to do.

Except Snoke’ll never let him get close enough to do it unless Kylo has a reason to see him. There’s a reason why the man has accrued so much power and lived so long. He’s suspicious as fuck.

So, Kylo will catch the mole Snoke wants so goddamn bad. The mole should probably die, too, anyhow, just for the hassle he's caused, not to mention for inadvertently putting a target on Rey.

Yeah. The mole should definitely die. And Snoke. 

_“I want this done. You fucking handle it and handle it now.”_

His nostrils flare, but it’s his only show of displeasure. He doesn’t wanna frighten Rey. To Snoke, he says, “I’ll take care of your mole. But it could get messy.”

_“I don’t fucking pay you to make messes. I fucking pay you to clean them up. And I’ll state for the record my disappointment in your performance this past week cannot be overstated. I’ve allowed your little distraction to hang around long enough. Get rid of the girl. Or I will.”_

Ah. Well, then. That’s as bald a threat as can be made.

Kylo Ren isn’t much partial to threats. Particularly those directed at his girl.

He realizes Snoke will have to die even if he didn’t just threaten Rey. He’ll never let Kylo leave the First Order for good. He’s a vengeful bastard, and he’ll search high and low until Kylo is killed. And whoever comes for Kylo will absolutely run across Rey, since they’re planning on sticking together from here on out.

It just don’t sit right with him, the idea of living his life looking over his damned shoulder.

“Fine. I’ll handle it _today_ ,” he growls, giving Rey’s hip a squeeze. “But then I need to go on the road for a few days. Unload some baggage.”

_You don't need to know it's gonna be your corpse._

Unaware of Kylo's thoughts, Snoke snorts inelegantly into the phone, and Kylo cuts off the call, assuming it’s over. 

Rey is sulking and he can't ignore her. She crosses her arms, clearly put out. “You gotta leave again?”

“Yeah…but you’re coming with me this time. Remember when you said you make good bait?”

“Yeah?” She’s still annoyed but he can see the light of interest leaping in her hazel eyes.

“How ‘bout helpin’ me with one last job, and then we bust outta here for good?”

“Really?” Her eyes light up some more. “You mean it?”

His mouth curves into a grin. “Course I do, sugar. I’ve had a bellyful a this ol’ town, anyhow. I ain’t cut out for a place like this.”

“You ain’t?” She’s all sunshine again as she twirls his hair through her fingers until pleasurable tingles dance over his scalp. “What _are_ you cut out for, then?”

In answer to her question, he spits his gum to the side, uncaring if it sticks to the floor. He’s done with this fuckin’ place.

Fuck Snoke. Fuck Vegas. Fuck the First Order.

He licks his lips. “I reckon I'm cut out for just about anything, so long’s you’re with me.” She hums and searches his expression for lies. But she ain’t gonna find none. He means it. “Maybe we oughtta do like you said, head north. Or for the ocean. I hear the Oregon coast is nice and quiet.”

“You don’t think my idea is stupid?” she asks.

“Not stupid at all, sweetheart. To be honest, it sounds kinda…kinda _perfect_ for the pair of us.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“And your one last job? With me as bait?” she asks, stubbornly clinging to his shoulders when he stands up, lifting her with him.

“Gotta catch a few rats and kill a mole, kitty cat.” _And then I’m gonna butcher me a wily old rattlesnake._ She laughs, and he does, too. “Hope your claws are nice and sharp.”

Her fingertips dig into his shoulders as if to prove it, and she whispers, “They are.”

“Good.” The tip of her pink tongue pokes between her lips, captivating him and not doing a damned thing to help his hard-on settle the fuck down. “Think you can remember to call me Kylo while we’re out and about?”

“I think so. I guess if I forget, you can punish me for it later. I won’t even fight ya too hard.”

“ _Very_ good,” he chuckles, running a hand over her hip and giving her perky rear end a squeeze. He wonders if this is another one of her poorly concealed attempts to get him to tie her down and fuck the living shit out of her.

Not that he minds at all. And she likes it plenty.

_Kinky little thing._

But her flirtatious expression once again drops into a scowl, and he croons, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I was just thinkin’,” she murmurs, looking into his eyes like she’s staring into his soul. “What if you never woulda seen me on them cameras? If we never woulda run into each other again?”

“Well, we did,” he drawls. “It’s like you said, sugar. It’s fate. You and me. We’re a _pair_. Not supposed to be apart and not nothin’ can stand in our way if we don’t let it.”

_And God help the poor sonofabitch who ever tries._

He carries her back to the bedroom and explains his plan in between fervent kisses.

“We’ll…need to…draw plenty of attention to ourselves…do some shoppin’…pay a little visit to a sleazy tattooist down on Canto Boulevard. Then I’ll take ya to dinner. Somewhere fancy. How’s that sound?”

“And dancing?”

“Sure, sweetheart. Why not?”

She grins and kisses him so sweetly he knows she’s up for whatever the night brings, ready for some action after being cooped up all week.

Reluctantly, he sets her feet to the ground, torn between fucking her here and now or waiting until he can’t hold off a second longer and the anticipation has a chance to build.

 _I’ll wait,_ he decides. Daylight’s a-wastin' and they should probably get out and stir some shit up. The sooner they get started, the sooner they can leave.

“You pack up like we’re goin’ on a short road trip. Nothin’ to set off any alarm bells. Leave anything you can’t live without here. Pack your stuff, plus a bag for me, too, and I’ll have it sent to the truck. And don’t forget to grab my buck knife, would ya?”

She makes a beeline for the closet, and he pulls out his phone to make a few calls.

She lights up like a slot machine when they reach the shopping plaza inside the casino, full of upscale designer shops.

They’re on First Order turf until they hit the Strip, though his guards will stay on duty until he indicates otherwise.

Part of luring someone in is letting them think you think you’re untouchable.

He escorts Rey into an elegantly lit, expensive shop. The staff recognize him right away and clear out the other shoppers so they can have the place to themselves.

Rey seems a bit out of her element until he lounges in the dressing room with a glass of scotch and swears he’s not budging an inch until she’s dressed for a night of “tearin’ up the town.”

Taking him at his word, she happily tries on dress after dress, each one a little more low cut and revealing than the last. The sight of her long legs and lean curves outlined so temptingly sends a pleasant rush of blood to his groin, and every time he tells her she looks real pretty, she giggles and blushes and it makes him want to toss her over his shoulder like a caveman and haul her to a nice, dark corner.

But he doesn’t. No, they need to be _seen_ and recognized, and he’s making sure word of his newfound _weakness_ is already trickling back to his enemies. He figures if he can catch one of ‘em, get ‘em to talk, which won’t be a problem at all, seein' as interrogation is his specialty, he’ll discover Snoke’s mole’s identity. Easy as pie.

Rey pops out of the dressing room holding up two dresses and wearing nothing but her skivvies and a question on her face.

“Red or black?”

Red gets his pulse racing, for sure. But black disguises blood a helluva lot better.

“Black, I think.”

She grins like she just read his mind, and he tells the assistant she’ll be wearing this dress out of the store, along with a pair of stiletto heels that lift her ass and force her into a posture that pushes her tits up to her chin. His lust ratchets up another notch, but he swallows it. 

_Soon._

The shop assistant mutters something about Rey enjoying her new _underthings_ , which she must’ve put on back in the dressing room.

He hints right then he wants a peek, but she refuses. He tells her flat out he wants to see, but she won’t even give him a clue of what she’s wearing under her new dress.

Miffed, he lets it go. They ring up her purchases, and he tucks her into the crook of his arm.

“We’ll mosey down the Strip a bit, letcha see the sights," he suggests. "Then maybe visit that tat shop down on Canto? The Libertine?”

“Sounds like fun, daddy,” Rey agrees, smacking a kiss on his cheek. Her fancy new shoes make her tall enough to reach if he lifts her a bit, though he wonders how long she’ll be able to walk around in them things.

Still, she’s practically glowing at the prospect of all the fun they’re gonna have. And she’s got a calculating, predatory air about her, too. Something in his spirit recognizes it as a match for the same thing that lives in him.

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Coldly, he looks over the staff, who he knows will remain patiently subservient until he’s long gone.

“If anybody comes askin’ for me, y’all be sure to say something. All right?”

A volley of _yessirs_ reaches him, but Rey is already pulling him out the door, treating him to a view of her swaying rear end as if he isn’t already planning to devour her the very minute he can get her somewhat alone.

But not just yet.

He plucks his little silver toothpick case from his pocket, knowing full well Snoke considers the “foul things” a dress code violation.

_Fuck Snoke and his fuckin’ rules. He’s a walkin’ dead man, he just don’t know it yet._

Feeling rebellious, and maybe even a touch spontaneous, Kylo dances his toothpick over his teeth with the tip of his tongue.

_Gonna be a whole lotta blood spilt tonight._

They make it a good ways down the Strip, mostly sightseeing for her and mostly him keeping a discreet lookout for danger and making sure his guards are following at a subtle distance.

Working for the First Order, Kylo is a well-known, dangerous figure to most of the higher-ups in the local criminal underworld, although his size and intimidating persona mean nobody fucks with him on general principle. But even if most people don’t know exactly who he is, he does have his fair share of enemies. And some of them might be stupid enough to try to make a move when he’s out in the open.

And he’s counting on being spotted out here for sure.

Rey is impossible to ignore as the sun sets and the city comes to life. Under the clamor of the lights and billboards and gregarious tourists, she spends a fair bit of time interacting with the cheesy street performers, the wanna-be magicians and singers and celebrity impersonators. Kylo slips each of them some cash after every encounter, knowing the genuineness of their ingratiating performances only extends as far as their ability to wheedle a buck or two from passersby.

In the greater scheme of things, Kylo doesn’t begrudge them trying to earn a living, even if they are sheep. He knows if the wheels of the world are to keep turning smoothly, the cattle need to eat, too, and so he oils the machine with money, keeping his true nature hidden behind the mask of a friendly smile.

Just because he’s at the top of the food chain doesn’t mean he shouldn’t do his part to maintain this little ecosystem, particularly when it feeds him so well.

But it’s Rey who holds his undivided attention. She’s looking for something. Hunting.

Fascinated, he wonders what it is she needs in particular, that indefinable _thing_ that will set off her dark side. He hangs back, not wanting to scare anyone away, and instead lets her make her way down the sidewalk, all chatty and friendly and occasionally asking other tourists for directions.

They need to kill some time, for the word to spread, so he lets her carry on for an hour or so, knowing she won’t find what she’s looking for here, and even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to do much about it, not on the Strip. It’s too well patrolled and law enforcement is visible, maintaining that illusion of safety that exists to entice people to spend their money.

He ain't much worried about their presence. Half the cops are on the take and know exactly who he is.

Discreetly, he directs her to their destination, all the while speculating on the color and exact design of her undies. From what he can see outlined under her dress, there ain’t much to ‘em.

His mouth is fucking watering.

He guides her off the Strip onto a side street, then down another block onto Canto Boulevard.

She sees the Libertine Tattoo Parlor, and asks excitedly, “Can I get a tattoo?”

“Sure, baby. Then afterward I need to speak to the owner. About some business.”

“Oooooh!” Before they get too close, he stops and waves off his guards, signaling them to hang back, but stay close.

His target is too small-time to know him on sight, and his guards will only draw unwanted suspicion.

Better to get his quarry comfortable, let him in the door, give him a chance to disable the alarms. Rey getting some ink will make a perfect distraction.

But first. There’s one thing he can’t wait another minute for.

* * *

Instead of heading directly into the tattoo shop, he pushes her farther into the alley.

His strong, warm hand cups around her throat and he roughly spins her, pressing her face-first into the none-too-clean bricks of the nearest building.

“What are you doing?” she squeaks.

“I need to make sure we’re all clear on a couple things.” His voice has gone all low and gravelly, threaded with danger. God, she fucking loves it. He’s been simmering for hours, close to boiling over.

She's been waiting for this.

“Like what?” She keeps her question low to match him and glances around. The alley is empty but for a dumpster partially blocking their view.

“Shut up and I’ll tell ya.” She doesn’t make another peep, riding the same thrilling wave he is, ready for anything and everything. Something's building.

His touch sweeps over the curve of her hip. His hand trembles, his whole body practically vibrating with pent-up tension and adrenaline. It’s that same raw, untamed power that matches hers, the same force coiling low and dark, deep in the pit of her belly.

He nuzzles at her hair, his breath hot and wet against the back of her neck.

“First of all. I know you can handle yourself and you got plenty a common sense.” He’s smelling her, hovering just behind, letting his body heat sink into her, and _fuck_ it’s sending shivers rocketing down her thighs to the bottoms of her feet, making her toes curl in her brand-new high heels. “But if this goes sideways–”

She glares over her shoulder and opens her mouth to argue.

“Shhh-shhh.” His dark eyes bore into hers, and her lips tighten into a grim line. “If this goes sideways,” he repeats sternly, “and something happens to me, I need you to swear you’ll do something for me.”

“What?” She’s not swearing to jack fuckin’ shit. Doesn't he know it's bad luck to be talking like this?

He licks his lips. “I want ya to hitch on up to Reno. Find a man named Lando Calrissian. He’ll be at Cloud City Trucking Company.”

“But…”

“I said, _shush_.” A lethal wave of menace rolls off him. She ain’t scared of it, but she zips her lips, nevertheless. Sometimes it’s easier to let him think he’s in charge, even though she decides then and there if shit goes sideways and something happens to him, she’s gonna burn this whole fucking city to the ground.

“You find Lando,” he says. “He’s holding a box for me. It’s got some money in it. A couple of guns. Some other things you’ll need so you can leave the country. He’ll help ya.”

“Nothin’s gonna happen,” she argues, heart pounding.

“I know. This is a _just-in-case_ kinda speech. And I said. Shut. Up.” He punctuates this with a cruel press of fingers on her hipbones, digging in just hard enough to make her flinch a little.

And she understands. In a moment of pure clarity, she sees him. Really _sees_.

“Now. I’m gonna fuck you. Right here in this filthy alleyway. I’m not gonna be nice.” He sounds like a demon. Wicked excitement slithers up her spine.

This. This is his _thing_. The thing he does when he lets the monster out of the cage. He’s loosening the chain in careful, measured increments, and fuck, it’s making her pussy wet.

“Okay,” she breathes, ready to melt into a puddle if only he’d just _do_ it already. She wants to _see_.

“I don’t care if you come, I don’t care if it hurts,” he snarls against her neck, sending sinful tingles down the backs of her legs. “I’m gonna take…whatever I want. And you’re gonna let me.”

Happy to comply, she shifts her hips until he grinds his crotch against her butt. The familiar whisper of his blade leaving its sheath rings through the balmy night air.

Her eyes flutter half closed, and he slides a hand under the back of her dress, baring her skin.

The faintest moan escapes her as a warm finger slides into the cleft of her backside, slipping beneath her new black lace thong, pressing deeper – _oh!_

“Ohhh.” Heat floods her, and she braces her forearms on the scratchy brick wall in front of her.

“Spread your legs.” The order is not to be questioned, and if she’s learned anything this past week, it’s best not to argue with this tone.

She glances over her shoulder and bites her lip, widening her stance a bit.

“More.”

He shifts, and she senses more than sees him fumble with his belt.

“Turn the fuck around. I didn’t say you get to look at me.”

_He only likes it when his kills look at him when he’s like this. And he ain’t going to kill you, Rey._

She licks her lips and turns around, live electricity snapping along her nerve ends until she almost turns again just to rile him up some more.

But then she feels him, _it_ , pressing where his fingers were, brushing along her thong and across her skin and drawing a wicked thrill at what they’re doing, right out in the open. Anyone could just walk by and look over and see–

His fingers prod and slide over her slick flesh, and he’s rough, hard, almost brutal as his breath hitches behind her.

“Who said you get to have these on?”

“Sorry, daddy,” she whispers, not sorry at all. “I guess I forgot to ask.”

He can probably hear the utter lack of remorse in her voice, which is why she’s not surprised at all to feel the flat of his blade slide under the scrap of lace. There’s a sharp jerk, then another, as he slices it away.

Frozen in place and hyper-alert to every nuance of sensation, she detects the nearly inaudible shift of clothes, then the silky-hot heat of him pressing between her legs. She can practically taste the pitch-black need roiling off him, can almost smell it over the garbage-stench of desperation in this alley, can almost hear it buzzing under her skin.

A merciless grip locks her in place. “If you’re gonna come, you better make it quick. And quiet.”

Adrenaline pumps through her like rocket fuel, and this is her cue to slip a hand up the front of her dress and touch her clit while he shoves himself inside in one hard, delicious stroke.

 _Fuck!_ She wants to scream. Instead, she presses her face into the arm propped in front of her, muffling a squeal of pleasure.

He grunts and does it again.

“…you like that?”

“Yes,” she moans.

“This little cunt…” he pants, “…is all I want…fuck, you’re tight.”

Her fingers move faster and he pumps his hips, steady and hard, sheltering her under his open suit jacket.

“…we’re gonna go in there…you and me…we’re gonna fuck some shit up…all right?”

“Yeah, yeah…” She can barely talk, barely _think_ when he intensifies the pace and growls low at the back of his throat.

He yanks on her hair, snapping her head back. So she pays extra close attention. “Yeah? You know why you’re wearing black tonight? Tell me why.”

“…to hide the blood…” She’s close, so _close_ …she whimpers…and he knows just what to do.

“You gonna help me? Send some fuckers to hell?”

“Yessss…”

“Tell me…” he coaxes, giving her an exquisite thrust and groping rudely at her tits.

_Oh, fuck, that’s going to bruise. Good._

“You want me to watch. Like I did last time?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah? You wanna watch me, too?”

_Yes._

“Yes!”

She’s almost _there_ , this angle is so _good_ and he’s so big and _hard,_ and _fuck_ every stroke is so goddamned perfect.

“Tell me…what I wanna hear,” he mutters. His words come out like they’re being dragged through honey, thick and slow, in contrast to the frenzied wet slap of him slamming into her.

_Please._

One massive hand wraps around her throat and squeezes hard enough to make her gasp and she can’t suck any air into her lungs. His other hand slides around to shove hers out of the way.

“Say it, Rey.”

The hand at her throat tightens into a bruising chokehold, and he goes faster, harder, forcing her closer to the beckoning darkness, hungry, needy...

“Just say it.”

_Fuck. Please._

She grips his steely forearm for all she’s worth, and he whispers filthy, wicked things in her ear and caresses her clit with every hot, dirty thrust.

“Say it,” he bites out. “ _Say_ it, and I’ll let you have first kill…I _know_ how bad you fucking want it.”

_Yes yes yes._

"Say it."

“I fucking love you,” she sobs.

He doesn't let up, insisting on occupying every space in her, body and soul. “And we’re together now?”

“Yes. _Fuck!_ ”

He rubs between her legs, hitting her clit and lifting his hips and fucking into her until her vision fades, and that tight, hot pleasure coalesces right _there_ , right where he's taking her over. She falls apart and comes hard, shuddering in a few violent spasms that seem to never end, and making him groan as her body flexes around him until she's boneless and whimpering. 

Grunting, he smashes her into the wall and pumps his hips, his own orgasm not far behind. She smiles when he comes, blissed out and already high on the afterglow.

He convulses behind her on a ragged groan, and he's a little damp with sweat. So is she.

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but them, like this.

He holds her unmoving for a few breathless minutes while all the molecules in the universe realign themselves around her. His breathing calms and he pulls away just slightly, still bracing her as the inevitable evidence of his passion drips down her thighs. She giggles and holds off from peeking back at him.

To her surprise, he presses close again.

“I fucking love you, too, baby,” he whispers into her hair. “Now let’s go catch some rats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW you were expecting some mayhem, but...*deep breath*...we needed a little more smut, I think.
> 
> Anyhow..........
> 
> ........who's ready for a finale? 
> 
> Two more chapters to go, and I am SUPER stoked for the ending. 
> 
> xoxoxo, and FYI, I love you guys.


	14. The Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frankenstein, The Edgar Winter Group   
>  Danger! High Voltage – Soulchild Radio Mix, Electric Six

# 

Thanks to [@hebola1010](https://twitter.com/hebola1010) for this stellar moodie, too!

# The Art

He gives her a minute to catch her breath before he spins her around and crushes her into the wall, kissing her until her fingers thread into his hair and her hot little tongue teases his and her breathing settles down a bit.

But her eyes don’t lose that wild, ferocious glitter, not even after he tugs her dress into place and hauls her back into the relative open in front of the window of the tattoo shop.

He spies one of his guards smoking a cigarette at the end of the block and gives him a barely perceptible signal.

His sentry nods and stubs out his cigarette, motioning to the others.

Kylo knows his men will surround the building and make sure not a living soul disturbs them. 

_Nobody comes in here, not even God himself._

The business he’s about to conduct is gonna be distinctly on the more sinful side of things.

He doesn’t overthink it, the killing. It’s just a habit he got into years ago and he thinks about it as much as he thinks about breathing. To his mind, it’s something he likes to do, something he knows he shouldn’t because it can get him into trouble and so he makes sure nobody catches him at it. Simple as that.

It never really mattered much until now because he never had a whole lot of concern whether he lives or dies.

But Rey, well. She changes the deal a bit.

More than a bit.

He's got a bit of an ominous feeling, and he's sure it's his newfound awareness of just how much danger she's in, specially now, bein' associated with him.

So he’ll keep his word and let her have first kill, but then they’ll have to hightail it back to Canto and take care of the mole problem and the Snoke problem and then skedaddle on out of town where they can raise baby alpacas, just like she wants, and live quietly and maybe, when the occasional urge strikes, have other sorts of fun. But as a team.

Together, they step into the shop, and he squints a bit under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Only two men are inside, one reading a magazine and the other watching porn at the computer behind the counter. Kylo can’t see the porn, but he can hear it, although the ferret-faced man looking at it quickly clicks his mouse to turn it off and straightens, putting a smarmy grin on his face when he catches sight of Rey.

He’s wearing a checkered shirt and glasses and his eyes are too close together.

Kylo decides he hates him on sight.

“I’m JJ,” he announces to Rey, ignoring Kylo altogether.

Kylo’s vision zooms in on his prey, knowing the other one, by process of elimination, must be DJ, the owner.

“You folks here for ink or piercing?”

“Baby girl wants a tat,” Kylo drawls, keeping his voice polite and non-threatening. “If ya got time.”

Rey beams up at him like he hung the moon, and he lets go of her hand so she can approach the counter, not missing a beat.

“I could do ya.” Kylo doesn't miss how JJ’s beady eyes crawl over her rumpled dress as he asks, “You ever been inked?”

Rey shakes her head no, and there’s no mistaking the sugar in the other man’s voice, but Kylo only cracks his neck, keeping his cool. Sort of.

Okay. Maybe not so much.

DJ, picking up on the vaguely hostile vibe and interpreting it correctly mutters to Kylo, “Don’t worry ‘bout your girl. He's just puttin' on a bit of a performance."

Kylo grunts, and decides DJ can have a quick death after all. 

Rey pipes in, “I ain’t never had a tattoo. But I always wanted one," and Kylo forces himself to calm down.

Unless it’s someone he really hates, he doesn’t usually care to drag out a killin’ for the pure hell of it.

Until DJ, still flipping through his magazine, mutters, “JJ’s good with virgins.”

_Well, now that was a fuckin’ stupid thing to say. Now you’re gonna die slow and painful._

Rey doesn't seem to hear, and she is just as charming as can be. Both DJ and JJ are immediately caught up in her spell. Kylo reminds himself these two are nothing but skin sacks of dead meat and he has no cause to be jealous. Because when later comes around, well, then they’re both fucked.

Under his breath DJ mumbles an aside, as if they're friends, "S’long as she can give him a clear idea of what she wants, JJ's work is good, even if he doesn’t have any imagination of his own to speak of.”

And this is when Kylo kinda hopes she takes out JJ so he can have Mister Yackety-Yak DJ.

But, he supposes he ought to settle in, knowing it’ll be a while until she’s done gettin’ her tattoo.

She seems to have her heart set on it, and far be it from him to not let her have whatever she wants.

“You know what you want?” JJ leers with a shameless lack of respect for another man’s territory and makes his way around the counter to peer over Rey’s shoulder while she flips through the portfolio on the counter.

“I do!” Rey chirps. “I want a hatchet.”

“A hatchet? Like an axe?”

“Yep.”

“And where do you want it, sweetie?” Kylo recognizes the cocky male posturing, even if Rey is too sweet and innocent to notice it _._ This man must be either a fool or a hubristic piece of shit.

_She’s gonna rip you to pieces, fucker, and I’m gonna watch the whole show with a smile on my face._

“Right here.” She traces the inside of her forearm, and Kylo sneers knowingly when she meets his gaze. “So I can look at it all the time.”

“Aw, that’s sweet, baby,” he tells her.

“And it want it buried in a heart.”

JJ, for his part, doesn’t bat an eye, just pulls out another binder with photographs of other tattoos he’s done and lets Rey find something close to what she’s thinking of while he starts roughing out a sketch.

“You want…like blood and stuff?”

She snickers, “Maybe a little.”

Kylo clears his throat and says courteously, “Well, shit, now that I’m here, I think I want one, too.”

DJ grunts and looks at the clock on the wall. “Well, I can ink ya. My last appointment is an hour and a half late and I didn’t have anything else booked for the night. You been inked before?"

Kylo shakes his head. "Nope. But I suppose there's a first time for everything."

DJ nods agreeably and grins. "Don't you worry, I'm good with virgins, too."

_You have no idea who the fuck I am. I cannot wait for you to find out._

A congenial smile slips over his face like a well-worn mask.

"You know what you want, buddy?” DJ slaps his magazine down and sits up. 

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

_And I’m not, by any stretch of the imagination, your buddy. As you are about to find out directly._

Casually, he slides his jacket off, revealing his double-holstered Glocks and his dagger.

This shuts up DJ right quick, but JJ’s back is turned.

“No need to panic. I’m a cop. Off-duty.”

DJ’s shoulders slump with visible relief.

“Undercover?”

“Done for the night.”

“You get your guy?”

“Oh, yeah. I got ‘im. Always do.”

_You ain’t gonna see the light of another day, and you don’t even know it._

Rey excuses herself to the little girls’ room in the back, and Kylo slumps into a seat across from DJ, his true quarry.

Kylo’s blood might be churning over JJ’s overly intimate tones, but he grudgingly lets it go. He's got bigger fish to fry.

Speaking of which.

Rey wanders back in and gives him a wink and he knows she must’ve done something besides clean the cum off her thighs by the way she’s smirking. A low chuckle rumbles out of him and he wonders what mischief she got up to. She makes a pointed glance at the little round dome in the corner of the ceiling.

Ah. The security camera. _Good girl._

He sends her a wink, but her attention is drawn back to her tattoo, and she settles into her chair.

JJ sits down beside her and seems to be acting a little more professionally once he gets to work. Shortly after this, DJ presents him with a very good sketch of his own tattoo – why not? – and Kylo nods in approval.

They decide to get just the lines done for now and “come back” for the rest. Kylo knows a guy in Colorado who can finish up the shading and color since he has no intention of coming back here. Won't be no point in it, seein' as these two are gonna be dead soon.

He pops in a fresh toothpick, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt so DJ can get to work. Surprisingly fast, they’re both prepped and things get quiet for a few minutes.

Kylo prepares himself to spend the next hour or two watching another man touch his girl and try not to rip anyone’s head off until it’s the appropriate time.

Across the room, he overhears JJ ask, “You sure about the name? We can always just do the hatchet in the heart. Maybe some flowers or–”

She scowls and insists, “I want it to say _Ben_. Right in the middle.”

“All right,” JJ concedes. “You can always get it covered up later. If things don’t work out.”

Kylo is halfway out of his seat when DJ grunts under his breath, “He’s just teasin’.”

Nostrils flared, Kylo settles himself back down and grumbles, “Aren’t you gonna try to talk me out of gettin’ her name?”

“Nah. My policy is to stay out of it. I don’t get involved in shit that ain’t my business.”

Kylo gives him a shit-eating grin. This is the very same policy that’s got the man into so much trouble in the first place, though he don’t know it yet.

Choosing not to “get involved” is piss poor idea when the mafia comes around demanding protection money.

DJ starts inking and Kylo watches Rey chattering away, apparently forgiving JJ for his momentary breach of manners, though he knows she doesn’t forget a goddamned thing. 

She holds still though and her only indication of discomfort is an occasional deep inhale through her nose.

He admires her high tolerance for pain, and he's unable to fully take his attention off of her. It's a good distraction, and she seems to be focused on him, too, like they're communicating without talking. At one point she gives the slightest dip of her head to JJ and lifts an eyebrow, and he flashes her a wolfish grin. 

_All right, sweetheart. You can have him._

She smiles back and bites her lip, as if he just made a naughty gesture instead of approving her choice of kill. JJ seems to be making good progress, bent over her arm in concentration. Kylo steels himself, too, knowing the faster they go the quicker he can get to his own killin'. 

His jaw flexes when she parts her legs a bit, then just a bit more, flashing him a glimpse of her bare pussy. This only reminds him her cut off panties are in his pocket and of just how they got there in the first place. He narrows his eyes and purses his lips to blow her a little kiss and she mouths the words “love you, daddy” and this is when he knows for a fact if anything happens to him there’s not a chance in hell she’s going to Lando.

_Fuck._

He has to fight to keep it from showing on his face when he realizes the truth. If anything happens to him, she's not going nowhere. Nah, she’ll stick around and burn this place to the ground.

He knows it’s true because he’d do the same fuckin’ thing if anything happens to her.

Briefly, he debates the wisdom of sticking around. Kylo doesn’t give a shit one way or the other about what happens with the First Order after this, but he knows he’ll have to play along until he can get to Snoke. Snoke probably has guys watching and already reporting back to him on Kylo’s progress. 

He’s sure whatever Rey does to "help" will be gruesome enough Snoke'll approve, so long as it looks like the First Order’s message has been delivered, even if Kylo doesn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out. Snoke thinks he's gonna kill her, though, and that won't do at all. 

He'll feel a helluva lot better when Snoke is dead. 

And he’s getting antsy.

Rey is too, but she sits still until JJ finishes up.

When the final result is presented, she squeals and beams at him so sunnily, Kylo decides DJ better hurry too, or–

“Just about done,” DJ mutters, finishing up the last line on Kylo’s ink, a heart with a knife stabbed through it, and of course, Rey’s name in pretty, swirling cursive.

Rey skips over to peek at it and sighs happily when she sees her name on him, giving him another glimpse of her arm, covered now in a clear bandage.

He can tell she’s quite delighted by his uncharacteristic show of spontaneity, and when DJ sits back, she claps her hands and declares it _perfect_.

She runs off to the little girls’ room again, and the coal of anticipation in his gut flickers to life.

_Time’s up, boys._

“You give us a call when you’re ready to come back in and get this colored in – that’s a pretty sick lookin’ tat, if I don’t mind sayin’ so myself.”

He hands Kylo a mirror so he can view the whole thing, which covers a good part of his upper arm.

“Shit don’t look half bad,” Kylo agrees. “My girl’s gonna love it even more once we get some color on it. You’re a real fuckin’ artist, man.”

DJ takes the compliment with a surprising degree of grace, considering he's a cocky son of a bitch. He only just gets Kylo's ointment and a bandage applied when JJ finishes cleaning up his station and swaggers over to observe and nod approvingly.

Kylo tenses, ready to jump into action when he catches Rey creeping up on the man from behind.

Shit, she’s a stealthy little thing when she wants to be. Damn near cleaned his clock a few times this past week, just to prove she could, and those sneaky moves are comin’ in real handy now, for sure.

Like a snake charmer, Kylo holds JJ’s gaze, distracting him. For her part, Rey doesn’t make a sound as she swings her arms back and wallops JJ in the kidney with a grisly thud.

JJ drops to the floor, instantly incapacitated, and DJ whirls in surprise, which is when Kylo pulls his gun. 

“I wouldn’t.” The warning in his voice is enough to make DJ freeze and reluctantly put his hands on his head.

Rey takes another swing at JJ, who seems to have lost his breath, writhing on the floor.

“I ain’t coverin’ up _shit_ , unless it’s your dead body!” she grunts, clearly outraged over JJ's earlier suggestion she could cover up Ben's name, and giving the bastard another whack until his moaning stops. 

_I knew she wasn't gonna let that slide._

“Baby, where the hell did you find a hammer?”

“In the back. Found a whole toolbox in the mechanical closet.”

“That when you disabled the cameras?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Well, now I think we need to lock this place down for a more…private conversation.” Kylo holds his gun on DJ, who swallows and gives Rey a few terse instructions on how to lock up. Rey, breathing a little heavily from all her hammerin’, trots over to the door, twisting a little alan wrench until it’s locked, then pulls down the window blinds.

Kylo’s men will keep people away, but a little extra discretion won’t hurt. He glances to JJ, twitching on the floor.

JJ’s eyes are rolling back in his head. He’s either gonna pass out or go into shock and die. Probably the latter. If Rey’s first shot to kidney didn’t do the trick, the next couple surely fuckin’ did.

“Now that looked like it fuckin’ _hurt_ ,” Kylo informs him in a voice dripping with false sympathy. He turns his gaze to DJ, cold as a shark. “DJ, DJ, DJ. You done fucked up real good this time.”

DJ goes pale as a sheet and whispers, “You’re First Order.”

“Yeah. Name’s Kylo Ren.” A tinge of green washes over DJ’s pasty skin. “Oh, you’ve heard of me? Good. That’ll save us some time.”

DJ nods, scrambling back a little, keeping a wary eye on Rey, swinging her hammer just out of reach.

Kylo paces closer, finally letting some of his pent-up menace uncoil itself.

“I have questions. I want ‘em answered. Don’t make me ask ya twice. Or you’re gonna get a lot worse than a hammer.”

“About the money. I don’t pay the First Order but I don’t pay anybody else, either. My m-m-motto’s always been simple. I don’t take sides.”

“Yeah,” Kylo prowls forward until he's towering over the shorter man, cracking his knuckles one-handed while gripping his gun securely in his other hand. “That’s the dumbest fuckin’ thing I ever heard of.”

“I ain’t never done nothin’ I need protection for! I stay out of it!”

“Stay out of it? Not too smart are ya? Don't you know what you needed protection from?”

Rey is grim and tight-lipped by the time they’re through interrogating DJ, but that’s one of the things he loves best about her – she has a real knack for not yattering away unnecessarily or interrupting his train of thought.

She just watches patiently, waiting for him to triple-check DJ’s answers before he ends the fucker’s life with a vicious twist of the man’s head, snapping his neck. It’s a quick death, after all, even if the questioning took a bit longer than Kylo would've preferred. But he’s out of patience now that he knows who the mole is.

And since this is a mob job and he’s trying to attract some attention, they don’t need to worry about dumpin’ the bodies.

Only knowing what he knows now, he has a sudden, powerful urge to just leave everything and drag her kicking and screaming out of town to somewhere safe.

But she'll never leave her money. She worked too damn hard for it.

After she gave him her savings – now well over a hundred and forty thousand dollars – he had some of it put into a bank account in her name and the rest converted into a large stack of clean, untraceable cash, currently sitting in the locked glove compartment of his truck.

She entrusted him with her ill-gotten gains, and he figures the least he can do is help her spend it on an alpaca farm if that’s what she really wants. She told him all about it, shyly, a few nights ago when they were snuggled together after fucking each other into a semi-stupor, how she ran across a little farm in her travels. While the owner of the place didn’t get a very happy ending, she liked the animals, alpacas, sensed a real affinity for the smart little critters.

So, he promised someday they'll take the truck and travel around a bit and find somewhere they like and put down some roots of their own.

He has plenty of his own money, too, some of it stashed away in Colorado and a bit here and there in bank accounts around the country under the name Ben Solo, even if he's willing to walk away from his substantial hoard of cash here in Vegas.

The only fly in the soup is Rey can’t get to any of it, at least not as things stand right now. 

DJ’s face is a grotesque mask of death and Kylo is positive the man stopped breathing several minutes ago. He shakes himself out of his reverie, conscious he's been staring at the dead man for a solid five minutes straight.

“You’re worried about somethin’,” Rey observes. She steps over JJ’s body, and he steadies a hand at her waist so she doesn’t slip in any blood, although the hammer made a surprisingly clean job of executing him.

“Well. As to that, I expect now that fuckin’ DJ spilled his guts, Hux’ll be coming for us just as soon as he hears.”

“You think?”

He's sure of it, even if this was the plan all along. He just didn't know it would be Hux, who is already way too close to Snoke as it is. Any inside knowledge Snoke has, Hux likely has, too, which puts him and Rey in a fair bit of danger, now that they've lost the element of surprise. Kylo is well aware a cornered animal is a lot deadlier than a sleeping one.

He pulls her close and gives her a languorous kiss and briefly debates bending her over the counter for a quickie.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, instead.

“I don’t mind sharin’ my money, Ben, if you’re worrying about it.”

_Fuck it. We got time._

“Well, I appreciate that, baby. And it’s right sweet of ya. But that ain’t what I asked.”

He turns her around and shoves her into the counter, already dragging her skirt over her hips and sliding a finger down the crack of her ass.

Careful of her new tattoo, she braces herself and sticks her butt out, saying over her shoulder, “‘course I’ll marry you. Why do ya think I got your name inked on me if I didn’t mean it for good?”

“You make my dick so fuckin’ hard,” he mutters, unzipping his pants and giving his cock a few vigorous strokes.

When he bends to push his pants down, he kisses the dimples on her lower back, one after the other. 

"Fuck." He leans close and nudges her feet apart, forcing her to balance precariously on her high heels as he nudges between her legs, spreading her open and growling in her ear, “You think you can just flash this at me any old time you want and expect me not to take a slice?”

She moans, wet for him, slippery and squirming lightly against his probing fingers.

"Not very polite," he scolds.

"I guess I forgot my manners," she breathes, laughing a little.

He chuckles. “Well, then I guess I'm gonna have to fuck this little hole every fuckin’ day and twice on Sundays so you remember.”

"Oh, is today Sunday?"

"Ssshhh."

He doesn’t bother saying anything else, just lines up and thrusts in once, twice, and then again, lifting her hips and spreading her cheeks so he can see what he's doing. He pumps his hips until she’s dangling limply, letting him take her however he wants. Her feet aren’t even on the floor and he really doesn't give a shit about anything but fucking her until she’s pushing back on him, tight and hot and whimpering. It isn't more than a minute or two after this before he's grunting and coming in a few rough strokes. 

She’s a little out of breath and so is he when he pulls out and gasps, “You can come next time, sugar.”

She just shakes her head and groans. But she stays put while he grabs a few paper towels off a nearby roll and cleans her up, wondering how he’s gonna lure Hux into revealing himself.

_We should just leave now. Start from scratch._

But no. There's no way he's leaving town without killing the mole, too. Hux is smart enough and vengeful enough to track him down. Which means he'll track down Rey, too.

“We gotta go back to Canto Bight. Take care of Hux.”

“What about dancing?” she pouts.

“Yeah, and dinner too, just like I promised.”

“And then we’re leavin’?”

“Nah. Then we’re gonna go torture and kill my boss.”

“Really?”

“You bet your sweet ass we are. And _then_ we’re leavin’.”

He drags her skirt back down and gives her a light smack on the butt, and instead of telling her he has a bad feeling, he gives her a scorching kiss, pulling her close and generally relishing the sweet taste of her, breathing her in, enjoying the brief moment of quiet before they go raise hell back at Canto Bight, and firmly pushing all bothersome thoughts of danger to the back of his mind.

No need to borrow trouble from tomorrow when today’s is plenty hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a little while, but I really am hoping to have this last chapter out soon, ya'll! I think I have a tag or two that needs addressing, so stay tuned...
> 
> In the meantime, I cannot express enough how much fun this fic has been - a good reminder that being spontaneous isn't always a bad thing! Speaking of which, depending on your taste in tattoos, their choices may be just a little bit cliche and definitely something two crazy kids in love would pick on the spur of the moment...but I think classic, too, yes?
> 
> So. JJ the Rat _(everyone say thank you to @NiniJune for the idea!)_ got what was coming to him, eh? A few vicious hammer blows to the kidney was the overwhelming choice according to my Twitter poll, I have NO IDEA why...I hope it was "pretty fun." 
> 
> Speaking of Twitter polls, yes, I am aware we still need to have Kylo strangle someone with Rey's underwear and dump the body in the incinerator, but I have plans and I promise it's coming soon in all its grisly detail. 
> 
> That being said, I am excited to wrap this up and get back to House of The Rising Sun and creep and maybe even finally finish a couple of other WIPs...thank you to every single one of you for your patience and just for being so supportive and having fun with this. 
> 
> We might need two more chapters. I don't know. We'll see.
> 
> I hope wherever you are in the world, you are safe and happy, and please know that you are perfect just as you are and you are LOVED.
> 
> xoxoxo!!!


	15. The Dance

Awesome moodboard by the very talented [@EmilyFiction](https://twitter.com/EmilyFiction)!

# The Dance

The all-you-can-eat buffet at Canto Bight is the best one in Vegas, but he knows for a fact she ain’t excited about the food, not compared to the way she’s eyeballing that electric carving knife the server is using to whittle off a hunk of prime rib.

_I’ll bet baby girl could do some damage with one a them. Maybe I’ll get her one for Christmas._

As it is, she’s putting a good-sized dent in the buffet, which he finds pretty damn cute, even with his mood bein’ on the cloudy side.

She wants a taste of everything, but she can’t possibly eat it all once she gets it back to their table. Still, the novelty for her is enough to keep a constant, indulgent smile quirking at his lips while she mutters under her breath all the little things she notices about the other diners. To his great amusement, she takes a nominal amount of vegetables at each turn and is sure to point out she’s eating them while feeding him bites, too.

He prefers to keep it simple and stick with the prime rib and a bite or two of salad and some mashed potatoes and gravy to fill in the cracks, happy enough to have her snuggled in at his side in their booth.

They eat and don’t make too much of a spectacle about it, but Rey’s occasional exclamations – “Ooooh, I like that!” or “Eww, nuh-uh, not havin’ more a this” – keeps a placid grin on his face, even if his mind is running on all cylinders. He’s revved up after the tattoo shop, and he wonders what’s goin’ on in her pretty little head.

She's emanating some kind of patient lethality, too. As if that was just a warm-up. 

For his part, he doesn’t overthink it.

He tries not to, anyhow.

“You sure you don’t wanna go dancin’?” he prompts around a bite of mashed potatoes and gravy. Rey insisted she was hungry after killing JJ and her feet were hurtin’ from the high heels.

He doesn’t mind either way, so long as she’s happy. She hasn’t entirely lost that predatory air about her from The Libertine, but with every trip through the buffet line, it eases.

It’s only halfway through dinner that he realizes she’s putting on a show for whoever’s watching them from the shadows.

It has to be Hux’s guy since he sent off all of his guards the minute they were back on First Order turf.

“Baby,” he nuzzles behind her ear and mutters, “I think Hux took the bait. There’s eyes on us.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but she replies with a touch of scorn, “I already seen him. Over by the dessert bar.”

“Yeah? You think you can sway him to follow ya to the can?”

She giggles and turns to twirl a lock of his hair around her finger. “Only if I get to be the one to put his lights out for good.”

Kylo grunts, hesitant. Because the look in her eyes tells him one thing for sure. She has no intention of staying safely out of the fray. Not here and now, not ever.

Mentally, he’s already working on how he’s gonna wrangle her into the lockbox on the back of his truck, safe outta the way, before he goes after the rest of ‘em.

For now, it’s best to distract her while he can. He presses a kiss to her neck and mutters, “I’m right behind ya.”

He’s more than a little eager to dispatch Hux and Snoke to hell, but first things first. She’s already slipping a hand under his jacket to pull his buck knife from its sheath.

“I thought I told you I can handle myself. When are you ever gonna trust me?” she hisses, eyes blazing hot. She tucks his blade into the top of her stocking and slides out of the booth. “Cover me.”

And on this somewhat alarming note, she sidles over to the indicated lookout, bold as brass, and starts chatting, turning once to throw Kylo a dirty look. Wary of others who might be hiding out of sight, Kylo unsnaps the guards on his holsters, prepared to draw guns and start shooting here and now, but whatever Rey says is enough to entice her mark into following.

The greedy look in the other man’s eye makes Kylo see pure red for a minute. But he smirks to himself when he realizes that poor fucker has no idea what’s comin’.

They disappear into the ladies’ room before Kylo sweeps his gaze from the potted palm to the hostess station, assured there’s nobody else.

Unobtrusively, he tumbles out of the booth and hurries to follow Rey, not bothering to disguise where he’s going.

He steps all the way inside the bathroom and his heart only starts beating again when she slips out the stall at the end of the row and gives him a wink.

“Where’s your shoes, baby girl?”

She tilts her head to the stall she just came out of and shrugs.

“C’mon, we gotta get a move on.”

She tosses him his buck knife, unbloodied, he notices, and he storms to the end stall only to find the spike heel of her brand-new shoe stuck in her quarry’s eye.

_Won’t ever wake up again, now, ya dirty fuck._

Hustling a barefoot Rey out of the restaurant to the other side of the casino complex, he grumbles, “Why didn’t cha just stab the fucker? Or slit his throat?”

“Well, I didn’t wanna make a big ol’ mess. Had to leave my shoe in his eye or he mighta squirted blood all over.” She flashes him a beaming smile. “I learned something after Plutt. Not to draw attention.”

“I guess you did, you clever little thing. That was right smart a ya.” Other than her lack of shoes, which nobody will notice what with all their eyes all fixed on the slot machines and gaming tables, they fit right in as they weave through the crowded casino to his destination.

He takes her through a door to the maze of passages in the _employees only_ area. They won’t have cameras back here in the off-passages, so he picks up the pace. Rey trots alongside him, easily keeping stride despite her bare feet.

The labyrinth of corridors will eventually take them to the warehouse behind the casino. The truck is parked back there, and if Kylo plays his cards right, they’ll be outta Vegas before sunup.

A clean start sounds real good right about now.

There’s a service elevator that leads to the dance club at the top of the building, where Snoke's office is located. Mentally, he marks it to come back to, just as soon as he’s got Rey tucked away snug as a bug in the lockbox of his truck.

“You didn’t take a souvenir off JJ, _Scavenger_ ,” he teases, hoping to divert her attention.

“Pfft. Like hell, I didn’t.” She flashes her arm, still covered in a clear bandage.

“Well, hell. I guess that qualifies.”

She squeezes his hand and he can practically hear her pulse rise when they walk past the elevator and he props open the door to a stairwell that leads to a service road and warehouse beyond.

But her eyes flash back to the elevator and she scowls. She must be reading something of his intentions, and he pauses, reconsidering.

He’s generally not a man who makes impulsive decisions, preferring to make a plan and stick to it.

But he knows damned well there ain’t no fuckin’ way he can look her in the toolbox of his truck and come back in here and get himself killed.

Ain’t no tellin’ who might find her or in what condition if she’s left in there for days on end. Or longer.

And in this split moment, he realizes there's no way he’s getting her to do anything she ain’t damned well good and ready to do, not in this feral state. It’s one thing to chuck a dead body in the lockbox, but not a live, wriggling woman.

_I don't wanna leave you, and I don't wanna get you hurt._

Covering his indecision, he indicates the stairwell and says coolly, “This is the way to the truck. If somethin’ happens, this is the way out. Got it?”

Her eyes narrow with suspicion, glinting back at him full of shadows and light.

But she mumbles, “Yeah. I got it.”

She knows.

Fine, then.

_Fuck it._

_Reckon we’re gonna fuckin’ die one way or the other. Might as well go out with a bang, the pair of us._

Swallowing back his foreboding feeling, he growls, “We’re together from here on out. No matter what. It’s just us, now.” He passes his buck knife back to her and mutters, “You keep this for me.”

A reluctant smile lightens her face and she bobs her head in acknowledgment. “Okay, daddy. Thank you.”

He steers her back to the elevator. It’s got a double-sided entry and as soon as the doors close them in, the door behind slides open to reveal an armed guard.

“Going up?” Kylo asks the patently startled man, dragging him in by the arm and kicking him into a kneel.

The flash of Rey’s knife startles the guard into stayin’ still long enough for Kylo to pull his gun and shove it in the man’s mouth.

“No shooting,” she murmurs.

Rey’s right. They should probably show a smidgen of prudence if they’re ever fixin’ on leaving this place alive.

The guard doesn’t make a peep, not that he can say much with the barrel of a gun lodged between his teeth.

Rey brings the wicked-sharp edge of her blade closer to the man’s face and Kylo pulls his gun away to give her some maneuvering room.

Dark energy snaps and sizzles between them, both in their element.

She seems to have a handle on this, and a great calm rolls over him like an all-consuming hurricane. This power is always swirling just under the surface, just waiting for him to tap into.

He looks on as she presses her blade to the man’s cheek. A thin line of red drips down in a mesmerizing trickle.

“You Hux’s man?” she coos, soft and pretty and deadly as a pit viper.

“What?” the sentry chokes.

“Where’s that little red-haired bitch holed up?” Kylo snarls in a demon’s voice while Rey holds her blade a millimeter from their quarry’s eyeball.

“The c-c-club.”

Kylo cocks his head and sets his hand over Rey’s, pushing down to slice the man’s cheek open to the bone, making him squawk and flinch.

“Which fucking club?” she snaps. “Ain’t there about a hundred clubs in this town?”

“F-fffinalizer.”

“You know where Snoke is?” She shifts her blade to his neck and jabs, just a little.

“Yeah, he's in his office,” their prey gurgles and Kylo catches the distinct odor of piss. It never bothers him, the smell. Simply a part of dyin’, pissing oneself. Rey don’t seem much disturbed by it, neither.

But dammit. If Hux is at Club Finalizer with Snoke, it presents a very specific complication of them possibly being outgunned. Snoke’s office is right behind the nightclub and the only way in is through the club itself.

“We’ll kill Snoke first, then Hux,” he informs her, wrapping his hand around hers once again and dragging the knife across his quarry’s throat to finish him without further thought. This ain’t pleasure killin’, this is business.

Nevertheless, Rey looks on and gives him a bloodthirsty smile when the guard drops into a heap of dead meat at their feet.

“Why Snoke first, then Hux, and not the other way around?”

Kylo doesn’t mind much, either way, so long’s both men are in body bags by the end of the night.

But, there’s a strategy involved.

“Snoke’s guys are paid guns for hire. If he’s dead or incapacitated, command defaults to me, then Hux. Killin’ Hux first will tip ‘em off.”

“Oh. What about those guys you had guarding us earlier?”

“I call ‘em to come runnin’ now, it’ll tip off Hux for sure. But. If we work it right,” he continues with false confidence, “Snoke’ll be dead before anyone figures it out. Like shootin' fish in a barrel.”

“And then?”

“Then we burn this motherfuckin’ place to the ground. And head for alpaca country, I expect.”

The door slides open and the hall is conspicuously empty.

Kylo is still pondering the lack of sentries when a security guard rounds the corner, clearly startled to see them.

Once again, Rey surprises him, jumping straight at the man and knocking him into a wall before he can draw a gun. This fraction of time is all Kylo needs to grab the man’s wrist and wrench his arm hard enough to rip his shoulder from the socket. His prey yowls in protest and Kylo grins, shoving him to the ground and stepping on his throat until his face turns purple.

Rey’s got her knife in hand, still wet with blood, and she crouches, holding the dripping blade an inch from the man’s eye.

Kylo reminds her, “No cuttin’, baby girl. Too messy out here in the open.”

“Cameras?”

Kylo shakes his head no. Snoke prefers to conduct his business away from prying eyes. There won’t be cameras, even if the main parts of the casinos are under constant surveillance. Still, someone could wander by and see bloodstains.

“Plan?”

He crouches to the other side and the panic in the sentry’s eyes holds a delicious familiar terror that only adds fuel to the dark fire in Kylo's chest.

_You're gonna die. Your last thought is gonna be this, right here._

Poking his tongue between his teeth, Kylo fishes Rey’s scrap of underwear out of his pocket, twists it into a makeshift noose of sorts, and wraps it around the man’s throat, dragging him back to the elevator to join his friend.

He gives the lacy fabric a vicious tug and tightens it until it's cutting off the air supply.

“Ain’t you lucky? If I had to die, I’d definitely want it to be from a pretty lady’s skivvies for sure.”

Rey snickers and cranes her neck in either direction.

It actually takes way longer to choke someone to death than they show in the movies, which is why Kylo tends to prefer doing this part in private. It sure is nice to have a lookout, and he tells Rey so while he’s doing it.

“Well, I guess I appreciate you, too, daddy.”

She waits until he finishes and a thick spiral of lust and darkness unfurls in his gut. He meets her eyes and bares his teeth. She's staring at her shredded underwear in his hands and licking her lips.

“When we get outta here? I’m gonna tie you down and fuck the shit outta you. First chance I get.”

He chucks the body in on top of the other dead guard and hits the stop button just inside the elevator door.

Someone will come along soon enough to check on it, so they probably ought to hurry.

“What if there are more guards?” she asks, reading his thoughts.

Kylo shakes his head. He doesn’t like any of this. Not one bit. Eyeing her up and down, he grunts, “Put your hands behind your back.”

“The hell I will.”

“The hell you fuckin’ _will_. Hurry up, ain’t got all night.”

She huffs but does as he says.

_Shit. Probably coulda wrastled her into the back of the truck after all._

But it’s too late now.

Digging out his cuffs, he slaps the metal around her wrists and gives her a scorching hot kiss on the neck before pressing the key into her palm.

She arches against him and he reminds himself he owes her an orgasm from that tattoo shop.

He marches her down the corridor, live energy thrumming through his veins as he stays alert. This whole place is about to be crawling with armed guards and Kylo doesn’t care to tangle with more than two or three at a time.

“You wait for my signal, you hear?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“We’re gonna waltz right on in the front door. Take out Snoke, take out Hux, too. Then we’re gettin’ the fuck outta here. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take ya dancin’ another time. Maybe in Reno after we get married?”

He’s so enthralled by the sweet, syrupy tension coming off her, he almost misses the men moving their way from the intersecting corridors.

But Rey doesn’t miss a beat and starts bellowing and screeching like a cat in heat.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me, you motherfuckin' asshole! You fuckin’ lyin’ skunk! You fuckin’ dirty piece a roadkill! I’ll fuckin’ take your head off, see if I don’t!”

No less than six guards approach, quickly taking in the scene she’s stirring up and believing exactly what Kylo wants them to see – Kylo doin’ his duty and bringing Rey to the boss.

She makes a good show of kicking her legs out and he hauls on her arms.

“You said you loved me, you fucker!” she squeals, putting up such a ruckus, he almost believes her himself.

“Oh, good,” he drawls. “Could use the extra guards. Come on.”

Better if they follow him than find those bodies in the elevator too soon.

“Extra guards for one little girl? What for?”

“I reckon that’s my business,” Kylo growls so ferociously the man backs up a step. “And Snoke’s. Mebbe you can ask him for an explanation when we see him.”

They exchange glances and fall in behind Kylo, too stupid to flout authority or think for themselves.

Which is just fine.

Pure electricity is sparking off her, and he smooths a thumb over her wrist, tugging her back into his chest as they enter a different elevator with their armed escort.

Their eyes meet in the reflection of the metal elevator door, and while her expression remains furious, her eyes drift to the guard on Kylo’s left.

He gives her an imperceptible shake of the head and squeezes her hand.

_Wait._

Snoke has a small arsenal in his office, and if they can get to him, get some guns, then they can take these guys out no problem, shoot their way to the truck and hightail it outta here.

If they jump the gun too soon, they’re fucked.

For once, Rey seems to understand and some of the dead calm that swirls through him transfers to her.

His mind is rapidly formulating a plan as they arrive at the top floor of the building. They’ll have to walk through the nightclub to get to Snoke, but Kylo is counting on the natural chaos to provide good cover for their exit.

The loud thump of bass greets him as the doors slide open, and Kylo pushes her through, making every appearance of directing her to their destination.

_We just might get to do some dancing tonight, after all._

Bypassing the main entrance where club-going partyers are lining up to get in, he guides her to a side entrance and through a corridor that opens onto a large dance club. It’s packed with people, and they’ll make excellent cover if he needs to shoot his way out with Rey.

Hux is looking on from a table at the second tier, where Kylo knows he prefers to conduct his business.

_Fuckin’ mole. You’re dead meat you little fuck._

Half of their armed escort falls back when they reach the dark hallway at the back of the club, and Kylo barks for the rest of them to stay put when they get to Snoke’s office.

“If she’s such a threat, we should have a guard or two inside,” the leader insists and Kylo turns a fulminating glare on the man.

“Snoke’s business ain’t none of yours.” He gives Rey a shake just for show. “I don’t think he wants you to see what he’s got planned for this one.”

The insinuation hangs in the air, and the guard nods. But he doesn't fall back with the others, and Kylo decides he’ll be the first one to die on their way back out.

The walking dead man raps on the door and opens it at Snoke’s barked command.

Kylo gives Rey a rough shove inside. Something deadly and beautiful is boiling out of her and he pushes her into a kneel.

For his part, Snoke doesn’t seem surprised or worried by their arrival. The older man simply purrs, “Ah, young Rey. The girl I’ve heard so much about. You’re supposed to be in a hole in the desert right about now.”

She doesn’t say a word, but she does crank her head around to glare at Kylo.

“Thought you’d wanna say your piece in person, sir, seein’ as she was using your casino to launder her money. Among other things.”

Snoke steeples his fingers and leans back in the expensive chair behind his desk.

“How much money?”

Rey spits, “Fuck you!” just as convincingly as she cussed Kylo out earlier and it warms his cold, jaded heart.

This next part of the dance is a delicate one, and he knows she won’t forgive him any time soon for what he’s about to do. But he steps around and delivers a ringing slap to her face, nonetheless.

To Snoke, he answers, “Round a hundred thousand dollars, if’n I ain’t mistaken.” She’s fumbling with the handcuff key and he needs to give her another minute. “Enough to draw the attention of the authorities.”

“That true, girl?”

Before Snoke decides to “help” him interrogate her, he draws his gun and points it at her head.

Her face goes utterly blank, void of all expression. No fear, no hate, nothin’ but dead calm.

She ain’t got those cuffs off yet, and so he lifts his chin and orders, “Tell him, Scavenger.”

“Fuck you.”

If he can’t come up with a way to kill Snoke quietly, they’ll have to shoot their way out. The minute he turns his gun on Snoke, that guard just outside the door will be in here in a heartbeat. Probably alert the others, too.

They won’t have time to get to Snoke's cache of weapons, locked in the safe behind the portrait of Canto Bight’s founder, Sheev Palpatine.

Snoke sits up and sneers, “You'd be wise to give me what I want. Make me take it, and I promise I'll do so with the cruelest stroke.”

He is not a patient man. If Rey doesn’t get those cuffs off soon…

Just as Kylo is debating shooting Snoke in the fucking face and to hell with it, he hears the faintest click.

And only when something flickers like black fire behind his beautiful scavenger girl's eyes does he tap into It, the Power, the Source.

The Darkness.

His eyes lock on hers, cold as steel, hot as the blazes of hell.

If they ain’t gonna die together, they sure as shit ain’t gonna live without each other.

Fuck it.

He lets his gaze drift ever so briefly to the other gun holstered at his side, then to the door.

_You shoot anyone who comes through that door until I can get us more guns, baby._

“Fuck you,” she hisses again, this time to Snoke, not him.

And in this moment, they take up the Dance together, bringing time crashing to a standstill. Wielding Death the way they were meant to.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just taken me so frickin' long to update this and a lot has happened and I'm adding one more chapter because I really want to give these two the send off they deserve and I'm SORRY for dragging this out and I love you and Happy Valentine's Day and more is on the way sooooooon...
> 
> ...xoxoxoxo!
> 
> Also, if you haven't yet, take an extra minute to go back and check out the moodies added to chapters 13 and 14 by @hebola1010.


	16. The Getaway

# The Getaway

He’s beautiful and lethal like this, almost distractingly mesmerizing, she thinks in that split second of communication firing back and forth between them.

Then he lifts his gun and she grabs for the other one at his side. He doesn’t turn away so she has an easy reach, but he still manages to put a bullet directly between Snoke’s eyes just as she pulls his gun free. Instantly, she spins, still on her knees. She’s already pulling the trigger as the sentry just outside pushes open the door.

His gun is already drawn, but he needs an extra second or two to comprehend what’s happening, to figure out where the threat is, and she’s taken advantage of this infinitesimal lull in time to aim for his upper thigh. She'd aim for his chest, but he's wearing Kevlar and there's a lotta major arteries in the thigh. A few good hits drop him dead where he stands.

Ben’s already leaping for the large portrait behind Snoke’s desk, ripping it off the wall. She hears shouting down the hall and drags the dead sentry inside, slamming the door shut. It's reinforced, but it won't hold for long.

She strips the dead guard's guns while a few bullets smack into the door behind her.

It takes half a minute for Ben to snatch up a gun, unlike anything she’s handled before. But it’s big and it looks military-grade, complete with a long clip of ammunition. He hefts it her way, a silent offering, and lifts a brow. But she shakes her head _no_.

There's no way she should try to handle something like that, not unless she wants to become a liability.

Besides. She’s got a full pistol and a flash-bang grenade dug from the front vest pocket of her latest kill.

Grinning, she holds it up as another hail of bullets shreds the door.

Ben holds out his hand and she tosses it to him without question, trusting he knows what to do.

“Cover your ears and hide. Over there.” He motions brusquely to the far corner of the office and she hurries to obey.

He jogs to the door, dragging it open and hurling the grenade down the hall before leaping to cover her, hands clamped over his own ears.

There’s a massive blast and little bits of dust and debris shake down from the ceiling.

Instant pandemonium erupts in the club outside, complete with high-pitched screaming, which can be heard even more clearly once the dance music cuts off mid-beat.

“Let’s go.”

Rey grabs her gun, ears ringing slightly. But she's not near as bad off as those guards at the end of the corridor.

She trots down the hall behind Ben, jumping over a body or two. He’s shooting in short bursts, the kind of rapid-fire staccato that makes the word “automatic gunfire” dance through her head, even as she ducks down and takes out a hidden sentry on their left.

He looks to have been thrown by the blast and was groping for his walkie-talkie. Rey snatches it up and chucks it away while Ben sprays down the end of the hall with more bullets to cover their escape route.

A quick peek around the corner tells her Hux has disappeared from his spot on the balcony, and Ben shouts, “Blend in, and head for the exit!”

“I ain’t leavin’ you!” she snarls back.

He’s scanning for Hux, but the red-haired man is nowhere to be seen, and the alarmed crowd is cramming through the main exit point, creating more panic.

“He’s gone!” she shouts, watching their back in case that sly little fucker tries to sneak up on them.

“Snivelin’ coward ran for it at the first sign a trouble,” Ben agrees. And with this, he drags her to the side door, where they first entered the club. He only needs to take out two guards on the way, and she hangs onto her gun.

Outside the club people clamor for the elevator and the stairs, crying and shoving and yelling. Ben leads her in the opposite direction.

“Service elevator,” he mutters. A few people have wandered this way, but they cower and shrink back when they see Ben and the gun he’s carrying.

Thinking to take out any witnesses, Rey lifts her gun. But Ben barks, “Don’t waste your ammo. We’re not in the clear, yet.”

“They could recognize us later!” she hisses.

Stopping, he seems to debate this fact. 

“Keep watch.”

He disappears inside a nearby custodial closet. He's inside long enough for Rey to worry what the hell he’s up to when he bursts out, grabs her hand without a word, and hauls her to the stairs.

_What the?_

“A little chemical bomb,” he gasps. “Move!”

Catching his urgency, she hustles down the stairs even faster. They're two flights down when the explosion hits, and it’s enough to rock the building and the stairwell.

“Keep goin’!” he hollers over the blaring fire alarm.

And for a few minutes there’s nothing but stairs and running and Ben’s heavy grunt every time they hit a landing. A handful of people exit from the lower floors and Ben chucks his big gun aside and hers, grunting, “Gotta blend in.”

There’s no way they’ll be able to kill everyone, but they certainly can pass as unfortunate club-goers, escaping with everyone else. She's getting a stitch in her side from running barefoot, but she doesn't care.

This is the best fun she's ever had in her whole life.

They reach the main floor. Most people are flooding for the exits, well identified by signs overhead, but Ben leads her back to a familiar exit.

“The warehouse?” 

“Yeah.”

After another set of stairs and a brief jog takes them outside the casino, Rey can’t help but look back to see the destruction. 

Smoke and flame pour from the top of the building, seeming to warm the balmy desert air with unnatural heat.

Ben pauses and looks, too, orange and red glinting in his eyes as he surveys the destruction he wrought. Even as they look on, another explosion erupts from the building. Rey can hear the low thump of helicopters over the roar of the fire and faint sirens in the distance.

“Come on.” He grabs her arm and they run for the warehouse.

But when they reach the large, windowless building, it’s too quiet.

And here, Ben pauses, muttering, “Hux is like to be skulkin’ around somewhere. Looks like he already cleared–”

A barrage of gunfire forces them to duck behind a shipping container before it is abruptly cut off.

“That’s a fucking flammable gas tank you’re shooting at, you dumbfuck!” someone bellows.

Ben winks at her from his crouch and nods to the enormous cylindrical container with all the bright warnings stuck on the side.

“No shooting,” he tells her in low tones. “Could be a ricochet and kill us all.”

But the distinct click of a gun being cocked says otherwise.

A cold voice murmurs, “I might risk it, if I know I’m putting a bullet in you.”

Hux.

Rey sinks deeper into her killing calm, a deadly Place where only one Thing exists, waiting for the moment to strike. Hux turns his eyes on her and smirks, and she vows to rip those sneering lips from his face with her own fingers.

For his part, Ben puts his hands up and stands, drawing Hux’s gun back to him.

“Pointin’ a gun at my girl is a bad fuckin’ idea. Gonna cost ya.” The deadly purr in his voice sends tingles over her skin. Maybe he can kill Hux, after all.

“She’s wanted alive.”

“Wanted?”

“US Marshal’s on the way. The FBI was already shutting down half the Strip even before you blew half of Canto Bight to hell and back,” Hux informs him. “I guess those agents thought you'd try to blend in with the crowds and escape down the Strip. But not me.”

Mitaka rounds the corner, gun drawn, and grunts, “Building’s clear.”

Grinning, Hux turns back to Ben. “Guess that means we just need to kill you and take in the girl.”

Rey slides her buck knife from the top of her stocking and holds it along her thigh, out of sight. Ben is the visible threat right now, and he’s doing this on purpose, drawing their attention to him to give her a fighting chance.

He looks like he’s about ready to tear this whole goddamn place to the ground with his bare hands and the feral energy sizzling between them soothes her.

Because whatever chaos ensues, he’s with her. Just like he was back in that tattoo shop.

“Well, shit, daddy. Looks like they caught me fair and square,” she sings, keeping her voice light and feminine and not scary at all. “Didn’t realize you knew who I was.”

This last she says to Mitaka. He keeps his gun trained on Ben, who is oozing such lethal intensity, it’s palpable.

“Oh, we figured it out,” Hux mocks. “Right about the time your daddy sent his men to fetch your shit.”

Dammit. Some of the stuff she had on her _would_ be a dead giveaway. She can't decide if she's more annoyed Hux knows about it or that Ben was right about her being caught.

Hux runs his cold gaze over her. “Mitaka. Cuff her.”

“I wouldn’t try,” Ben sneers.

Cautiously, Mitaka steps close, and she smiles, waiting for that infinite, tiny space when he’s distracted. That moment is hers, she owns it, and she knows it like an old friend. The time to strike belongs to her.

And Ben.

When she attacks, several things happen at once.

A gun fires.

Her buck knife finds its way jammed viciously between Mitaka’s ribs.

And something searing hot tears through her upper arm.

And, most unexpected of all, something conks her on the head hard enough to knock her down.

But the most frightening thing is the sound Ben makes when she falls. As if Devil himself is lurching up from the pit of Hell to wreak havoc on everything in his path.

She blinks awake a half-second later and quickly notes there are bodies on the ground. Hux. Mitaka. There was a third one, then.

Ben is quiet, too quiet.

A ragged gasp tears through the air, and she turns to the sound only to spy a lone guardsman on his knees, facing away from her, holding something. Holding Ben around the neck, choking him out.

Without hesitation, she yanks her knife from Mitaka’s chest and crawls over and drives her blade into the man’s neck.

He drops, instantly, and Ben coughs and gasps for air, turning to glare at his unexpected savior. His gaze softens a fraction when he sees it's her.

“You okay?” she pants.

“Yeah. We gotta move. Gotta clean this up, or they’ll connect the bodies to the truck when they realize it’s gone.”

“Why can’t we just fuckin’ leave it?” she grumbles. 

“Guess I made sort of a promise just now, one I intend to keep. Means I gotta return the truck to its rightful owner.”

She nods. She knows about promises made and keeping one’s word. She made the same kind of vow to take care of Unkar Plutt long ago.

Somewhat clumsily, she helps drag bodies to the incinerator. Ben dons a pair of heavy-duty gloves and cranks the heavy door open. Rey can feel the heat, even from yards away, and breaks into an instant sweat. He must be running on pure adrenaline, like her, and together they heft the bodies inside, one after the other. She’s feeling woozy by the time Ben jogs to the truck and starts the engine. She follows more slowly and scowls at the chrome steps, unsure if she can make it up. 

_Losing blood. Can't get up there. Fuck._

Her arm is bleeding like crazy and when Ben hops out of the truck again, she stumbles.

Something dreadful crawls over his face when he sets eyes on her and comprehends the problem. Everything goes from slow motion to hyperspeed.

“Baby, you did so good back there. Just like I taught ya.” He gives her a bloody smile, and she can tell damned well he’s putting on a brave face for her sake.

“Well, am I dyin’? Or can we fix this and get the fuck outta here?” she snaps.

He takes her back to the incinerator and throws on the gloves again, sticking a nearby crowbar into the heat until it’s red hot. It doesn’t take long.

Without warning, he wrenches her arm into position and lays the hot bar over her injury for half a second, instantly cauterizing the wound.

And this time when she blinks awake, she’s stuffed in the lockbox of the truck with Ben glaring down at her.

Might as well be a coffin, she’s so furious.

“The fuck?”

“If there’s a security perimeter, this is the best shot we got to get your sweet little ass out of town, _Scavenger_.”

Her arm throbs and he chucks a bottle of water inside. Like he’s doin’ her a real big fuckin’ favor.

“I’m coming back for you, sweetheart. Promise.”

“You fuckin’ better!” she belts out, right as he slams the lid shut and locks it.

He figures he can tell her about his own injury later.

He drives slowly out of the warehouse, taking a roundabout route away from most of the pandemonium and hoping to avoid the FBI checkpoints. He follows a few side roads, but the flashing lights in the distance tell him there's a checkpoint comin' and ain't no circumventing it.

But it's only one cop, and since this is a truck route, less likely to be known as an escape route.

The man puts up a hand and Ben glances at his buck knife, swiped from Rey's last kill before they chucked the body. It's still bloody, but setting within reach in case he needs it.

He rolls down his window, thankful for the darkness to hide the blood in his hair and on his clothes.

Just so long as nobody looks too close.

“Where ya headed?” the cop asks by way of greeting.

“Reno.”

The cop nods, evaluating. Ben can feel blood sloshing in his shoe and scrunches his toes to keep himself alert.

“We’re lookin’ for a woman. Think she might be a killer. You heard of the Scavenger?”

“Scavenger?” He injects just enough curiosity into his tone to cover up the fact he’s seriously contemplating killing this cop. The only thing stoppin’ him is it’s gonna be risky as hell. 

“Serial killer. Works alone.”

“Damn. A woman serial killer?”

“That’s what they’re sayin’.”

“Damn,” Ben says again. “I ain’t seen nothin’. And I guess I’d know if there’s a woman in my truck. But I tend to keep to myself, sleep in the back. Was hopin' to avoid some of that racket back there.”

This last statement is punctuated by a small series of explosions coming from the direction of the Strip. Fire must've hit a gas line. Ben cranes his neck and looks back in what he hopes is a good facsimile of shock.

“What’s in Reno?”

“I got folks up that way. Lando Calrissian.”

“Lando? Cloud City Truckin’ Lando? I thought I recognized your truck. Ain’t Lando the mayor these days?”

“I reckon he is.”

“I know him. Good fella.”

“Known him since I was knee-high,” Ben admits evenly, meeting the cop's inquisitive gaze with a half-smile. 

“All righty. I wantcha to pull on over to that side road, see over there?”

Ben stiffens. “Sir?”

“It’ll take ya on a back road a ways. Bout half a mile along, you’ll hit an exit to the interstate and avoid all the incoming traffic and fire trucks.”

“Yes, sir. Thank ya kindly.”

“You tell Lando Calrissian that Sheriff Ackbar from Vegas says howdy.”

“I surely will, Sheriff.”

Sheriff Ackbar steps back a few paces, and Ben takes a deep breath, doing his best not to wince as he puts the truck into gear and drive as casually as he can to the indicated side road.

In the mirror, he watches Ackbar return to his patrol car, but Ben knows it won’t be safe to stop yet, so he flips on the radio and drives on.

He drives a bit farther than he originally planned, a good three hours or so. Rey is sure to be mad as a wet hornet when he finally turns her loose, but he’d rather be safe than sore when he stops and turns her loose. Ain’t no way he wants her anywhere near to Vegas if they’re lookin’ for her.

But he has to stop eventually. The wound in his side is starting to throb with real pain now, the kind that tells him he’s not gonna be able to stay awake much longer. He pulls into a gas station and forces himself not to puke when he hops down from the truck.

Sure enough, Rey is glarin’ fit to kill when he pops the lid of the lockbox, but she takes one look at him and must not like what she sees because all she does is mutter, “Bout time, ya fuckin’ asshole.”

With a quick glance to get her bearings, she tears his First Order cap off his head and snatches the flannel he passes to her. She smashes the cap onto her head and clambers from the back of the truck without another word, shoving her arms into the flannel with a few muted curses.

He follows her inside and she distracts the lone attendant on duty – _no killin’ anybody, goddammit!_ – so he can stumble into the filthy bathroom and splash ice-cold water on his hair and face and rinse away most of the blood.

He’d park at a truck stop and cram into the back bunk with Rey for a week if he could, but he needs water and light so he can see how bad hurt he is. And a fresh set of sheets don’t sound too terrible neither, now that he has a taste for that sorta thing from livin’ at the casino.

_Won’t be none a that fancy shit no more. Not for a while, at least._

Stepping out of the restroom, he keeps his head ducked low to avoid the camera in the far corner.

“There’s a nice, quiet little place just down the road,” the kid says helpfully to Rey as he rings up her purchases. The twenty she slides across the counter has a smear of blood on it, but the kid doesn’t even notice.

“Truck’s still runnin’. Let’s go, baby,” Ben grunts, sweeping a glance through the small store for any sign of law enforcement or other threats.

Rey scampers away as best as a girl can scamper while she’s barefoot, and Ben would worry more but she’s a tough little thing. She barely even gasps when she plops into the passenger seat, even if Ben knows damned well she’s probably got a cracked rib or two along with her wounded arm.

He ain’t much better off. He’s pretty sure his wrist is sprained and his black eye is only getting uglier by the minute. The ache in his side is starting to throb and pulse in time to his heartbeat. 

Between the two of 'em, they look pretty bad off. Ben decides if the motel won’t give ‘em a room, he could be tempted into killin’ just for fun after all.

“You know how to sew?” he blurts into the silence after driving a few miles.

“You just askin’ cuz I’m a girl?”

 _Oooh, baby's spittin’ mad_. This makes him chuckle, though somewhat painfully.

“I’m askin’ cuz I got a knife wound that needs stitchin’ and I ain’t keen on trying to fix it up with a sprained wrist.”

Her gaze darkens and she nods, once and sharp, and he hopes to high heaven above she ain’t gonna find more than a gash in the muscle. If that bastard merc who tried to choke him out hadn't a stabbed him first, Ben figures he'd be in a damned fine mood right about now.

But instead, he's worryin'.

If that fucker's knife went too deep, he’s a goner, and he's not bound to die a pretty death if’n something got nicked. Dyin' ain't what worries him so much as leavin' Rey.

_Can’t be the liver, at least. There’d be plenty more blood and I’d have lost consciousness a while back._

Still, spots are dancing before his eyes and he’s clutching his injury by the time they reach the motel, a quiet-looking little place called Endor, halfway to Reno.

He parks in the empty lot, thankful to be done with driving. He couldn’t go on if their lives depend on it, he reckons.

He turns to Rey, ashen-faced and woozy.

“I dunno if I can…make it inside, baby. You think you can get us a room?” he slurs.

She scowls and hops out of the truck without a word, marching barefoot through the parking lot.

He doesn’t even realize he’s passed out until she’s haulin’ on his arm from the driver’s side door, draggin’ him none-too-gently out of the truck. The only thing keepin' him on his feet as she leads him to a first-story room is her and her tirade. Something about goddamned stupid men who act like they’re invincible and can take a knife to the belly without any repercussions and nearly gettin’ themselves killed like a big dumb fuckin’ idiot.

“We shoulda left the fuckin’ truck and just stole a fuckin’ car,” she snipes, swinging open the door to their room. The smell of stale decades hits his nose. Familiar.

Worse than some. Not so bad as others.

“Help me get your shirt off before–”

He would help her, but the bed looks too comfortable. He plops face down on it, uncaring if she has to cut his shirt off, unable to stay on his feet one second longer.

Halfway through her tendin’, he wakes up, only to be met with a pair of furious, merciless hazel eyes and jabbed in the neck by what he guesses is another tranquilizer dart. He knows the damn girl still had a couple rattlin’ around in that knapsack a hers.

When he wakes again, the first thing he notices is the quiet. The TV isn’t on and the room is utterly still.

She’s gone.

He glances to the window, covered by the ugliest orange blinds he’s ever laid eyes on. Murky sunlight leaks around the edges and he’s thankful for the gloom. Even the dim light is enough to send a spear of pain driving into his head like a railroad spike.

The second thing he notices is she managed to flip him onto his back – lucky for him all those bodies she’s moved were fair practice – and she cut off his shirt, too.

And she did a respectable job of tending to his knife wound by the look of it.

The door creaks open and she backs into the room carrying a couple of full brown paper bags. He watches as she gently kicks the door closed and sets her bags on the dresser next to the ancient television.

“Hey, there, sugar.” His voice sounds like he just gargled with lighter fluid, but she keeps her back turned. 

Ignoring him, she pulls things from her bags, setting each item deliberately onto the top of the dresser as if it’s her only care in the world.

Ben gives her a minute and glances around the room some more. She’s obviously gone back into the truck and brought in the rest of their stuff, but some other stuff – a bag of chips, some moon pies, a box of ho-ho’s, two liters of Coke, some shampoo, and a few other essentials – must’ve come from somewhere nearby.

From the paper bag, she takes out a couple of those individual noodle cups and his stomach lets out a rumble at the sight.

A cup of soup sounds like just the thing. She grabs one and peels the plastic wrapper from the styrofoam before she takes the cup to the bathroom. He listens to the tap run for a bit and she comes back and sets the noodle cup on the nightstand, along with a plastic spoon.

“Give it a minute for them noodles to set.”

“You didn’t hitch anywhere for all that?” he glowers, mildly jealous.

“There’s a store a mile down the interstate. Little mom and pop type a place.”

She moves back to the paper bags and pulls out a gaudy Hawaiian shirt about eight sizes too big for her.

_Must be for me, then._

“Ain’t wearin’ that,” he informs her, giving the shirt a dubious perusal and thinking fondly of the closet full of expensive suits back in Vegas.

“It’s all they had and you ain’t got nothing else.”

Well, shit. She ain't wrong.

“I guess Kylo Ren is dead and gone.”

“I reckon.”

She takes out a prescription bottle and tosses it to him. He looks it over and says into the silence, “Who’s Gladys R. Johnson and why do we have her amoxicillin?”

“I took it off her at the store. You take those as prescribed so you don’t get an infection.”

She digs a red plastic cup from her bags and pours him some Coke so he can swallow one of Gladys’s pills.

“You’re a clever little thing, I ever tell you that?”

Her frosty attitude thaws a bit and it occurs to him just why she’s so miffed.

“Sorry for almost dyin’.”

She sniffs. “It’s okay. I just. Never mind.” She gives him a watery stare.

Ah, fuck, she’s gonna cry.

“Come ‘ere.”

Carefully, she climbs on the bed and snuggles up to his uninjured side. His wrist hurts like the devil, but she’s got it all wrapped up with an ace bandage from the first aid kit on the truck, so he guesses he’ll live.

“Reckon we’ll stay here a few days, then head on up to Reno, get my stuff from Lando. Get hitched?”

“You still wanna marry me?”

“Hell yes, I do. I’ve taken a real shine to the notion of that little alpaca farm. I guess if we can set up somewhere quiet and stay outta the eye of the law for a bit we could do just about anything we want.”

“What if I ain’t good at it? Bein’ a wife?”

“Baby girl, I guess you’ll be just fine at anything you set your heart on. Look how good you fixed me up and you ain’t never had no formal schoolin’ or nuthin’.”

She gives him a shy smile. “I even made sure to take care of your tattoo.”

He turns his arm in surprise so he can view her name inked into his skin.

“You did real good baby. Real good. Now let’s have a little nap. Daddy’s worn out from all this yackin’.”

The next few days go about as expected, but still somehow better with Rey nursing him back to health. She’s a real natural and seems to know when he needs to doze and when he’s hungry – Lord knows where she’s been rustling up their food, but she brings it back on a regular basis and feeds him until he’s, if not ready to bust, at least full – and eventually, he’s able to stand up and do more than make his way to the john before stumbling back to bed.

His stitches pull and ache and itch, but Rey watches rabidly for signs of infection and he counts himself blessed when, a week after they arrive at the motel, she declares the damned things ready to come out.

“And then you’re takin’ a shower, you big ole stinky brute.”

He’s been getting by with a washrag to the necessary parts and the idea of a shower sounds like heaven on earth. Not wanting to aggravate her into making him take his own stitches out, he sits still.

She’s quiet as she helps him strip out of his shorts and gets the hot water going. When she turns to leave him to it, he drags her close instead and gives her a searing-hot kiss. This warms her up a notch or two, so he tugs at her shorts and her tank top, hinting without words how he wants her to stay.

And she does.

Together, they slide her clothes off too, and when he gives her a smile and teases, “I might need some help washing up, too,” she shakes her head and hustles him under the spray.

While she scrubs him down, he feels like a new man with every passing second. Docile as a lamb, he follows her quiet orders whenever she murmurs, “lift your arm” or “rinse off” and he even his hair gets scrubbed – _twice_ – before she’s satisfied.

But the hot water ain't gone yet and her hands rubbing all over him is distinctly arousing. He’s never had anyone pay him so much attention before, and he decides he rather likes it, so long as it’s coming from Rey.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

Her cheeks turn a faint, fascinating pink and he can’t stop staring.

She says, “It was nothing.”

“Not to me.” He tilts her chin to meet his gaze. “I love ya. You know that right?”

“Yeah. I…love you, too.”

“You almost done being mad at me?”

“I guess,” she sighs.

He gives her a gentle shove, forcing her into the corner of the shower against the tiles. He glances down at his dick, then back to her.

“We should probably take care a this while we’re in here,” he grunts, lifting her so she can wrap her legs around his waist. She feels lighter, and he wonders if she's been wasting away what with all her frettin' over his worthless hide. He kisses her until she's breathing hard.

“You still owe me one,” she informs him and he laughs. Maybe he generally prefers to steep in the darkness, but he sure don't mind the light every now and then. 

She kisses him back with a bit more enthusiasm and combs her fingers into his wet hair, tugging until pleasant tingles run over his scalp and down his spine. Suddenly eager, her little tongue strokes against his and she groans, and that’s when he knows.

“You'll let me make it up to ya?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, groping at his shoulders and doing her doggone best to grind against his erection and drive him crazy. “You said we're together from here on out.”

“We are. Look.”

He bends his head and watches along with her as he pushes inside. Her pussy is slippery-wet and hot and tight and he never wants another one and he never will. Her breath on his shoulder captivates his full attention and for a minute or two, the only thing in his existence is her. He gives her a little bounce until he's all the way inside, surrounded by the only thing worth dyin' for. He looks down again and mutters thickly, “See? You and me. I ain't goin' nowhere. Okay?”

“Okay.”

For emphasis, he jounces her again and sort of gets lost. Lost in the look on her face as she rides him and the dainty little noises she makes every time he touches her, deep inside. Lost in the heated compression of her warm, soft body taking him in and the hot press of her mouth on his skin.

It’s life, he realizes, somewhat awed, _life_ that makes them move together so perfectly, but it’s death, too, knowing the end is coming and they’re headed there together.

His thrusts grow faster, driving them to that dark place just as inevitably as death comes for it all in the end. She whimpers encouragement and squirms and clings, wanting the same thing as him.

“Come,” she breathes. “Come in me.”

Fire whips through him and he obeys without a second thought, capturing her damp mouth with his, taking her up on her offer, glad to be alive even if it means dying a little bit, too.

That's just part of life. 

And when her soft cries echo against his own, it doesn’t matter if they’re headed to hell itself, so long as they’re going there together, burned into each other’s hearts as surely as their names are inked into each other’s skin.

Everything is better after this, and Ben feels a renewed sense of purpose when Rey deems him fit for driving if he's fit for fucking.

They'll head for Reno in the morning. He'd argue for another day, but he can tough it out.

Besides, she seems to be coming back to her old self, even though she snuck off last night. He never said anything. He suspects she was just working out her feelings one way or the other.

But she was gone almost the entire night and when she creeps back into their room at dawn, smelling like motor oil and old, musty clothes, he wonders.

He doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t offer an explanation.

She seems chipper as can be when she brings him a breakfast sandwich wrapped in paper towels that she talked the motel clerk into giving her.

“He’s got a crush on you,” Ben grumbles around a mouthful of egg and cheese. “I oughtta wring his scrawny neck.”

“He’s fuckin’ seventeen if he’s a day,” Rey smirks, greedily eyeing his last bite. “Plus he’s scrawny enough I could wring his neck my own self if I had a mind to.”

Catching her look, he offers the last scrap of egg sandwich. “You eat yet, baby girl?”

“I'll be all right,” she declares. “We can eat once we get to Reno. I can wait a few hours. You go on. I can’t drive the truck and you need to keep up your strength.” This admission comes with a scowl and his heart lightens right up. She’s all right, then. Just cranky. “Unless you changed your mind and you want me to steal a car?” 

He shakes his head, knowing she’s only half joking. “Nah. The truck’s good cover and worth a fair bit to Uncle Lando, I figure. We can add any profits from it to the cash if ya want. For the farm.”

Reluctantly, he dons the stupid Hawaiian shirt and privately vows to find some different clothes at the very next possible opportunity. But Rey’s eyes light up when she sees him, so he decides he can live with it for now.

It takes her ten minutes to pack their shit while he gets the truck warming up and checks them out of the motel. The kid behind the counter does seem a mite on the young side now that Ben is paying attention. The boy’s cheeks turn pink at the sight of Rey, who dances into the lobby to plant a wet kiss on Ben’s cheek.

“Truck’s loaded up.”

She plops their room keys on the counter and leads him out the door without looking back.

The injury in his side only twinges a little when he puts the Falcon into gear and pulls onto the road.

“I’d kill for a cuppa joe,” he sighs.

“Don’t worry, I already did.”

To his pleased surprise, she passes him a thermos cup full of coffee strong enough to strip the truck engine clean.

“You did not.”

“Almost did.”

They’re only five minutes down the road when he sights in on a hitcher wearing a huge hiking backpack and a weary look on his face. Rey’s energy turns into a near-tangible force and his own heart pumps an extra beat or two when she remarks, “Easy pickin’s. Should we?”

Debating, his toothpick flicks back and forth. He’s never felt so satisfied.

“Nah. We’ll get the next one, sugar.”

“I guess there ain’t no room in the toolbox anyhow.”

She’s still bitter over her involuntary internment. He’ll make it up to her.

“Why ain’t there room?” he chuckles, amused.

“Hitched back to Vegas last night. Had to get my chainsaw.”

“Vegas?” he thunders. And then, confused, “Chainsaw? Not the one you said you pawned?”

“Well, what other chainsaw would it be?”

He shoots her a baffled look. “Thought you pawned that thing right after you took off.”

“What back in Utah?”

“Yeah. When ya left me in that motel. In Niima.” Now it’s his turn to be bitter.

“Why would I do that? I brung it most of the way. Only pawned it when I realized they wouldn’t let me have it in them fancy casinos.”

“This whole time?”

“Well, yeah. I figured I’d be needing a good saw. On my farm.”

“You’re tellin’ me you had Teedo's Stihl with you the _whole_ time you were hitchin’ all over Kingdom Come? That whole time we were apart?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

“…and people were actually dumb enough to pick you up anyhow?” He shakes his head in disgust. “They deserved what they got, by my account.”

“They sure did.” She gives him a saucy wink and snatches his trucker cap off of the dash, plucking a toothpick of her own from the little silver case she digs out of the glove compartment.

She settles into the passenger seat and pulls the bill down over her eyes, her backpack tucked safely away, and her Ray-Bans – a little worse for the wear now, but still in good shape – perched jauntily on her nose.

Enjoying the sight, he doesn’t hide how his eyes wander over her legs and her tits and the road. All on display just for him.

She catches him grinning at her bare feet propped on the dashboard and wriggles her toes in the morning sunshine. It’s gonna be a hot day in the desert, but Reno’s only a few hour's drive from here.

“How the Sam Hill did you manage to hitch rides all over half the country – for two fuckin’ years – with a gol’ darned chainsaw?”

“Now that, daddy, is a story for the road.”

“Well then, sugar. You better start talkin’.”

Somehow, with this one, he don’t mind the chatter so much after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. 
> 
> When I took up this prompt on a whim last year, I honestly never expected it to evolve into all of this, but dang, I'm glad it did. 
> 
> Writing this story has been an absolute joy, and I've had more fun sharing it with all of you than I can say. In particular, I'd like to thank those of you who made some truly awesome moodies and artwork for this story, featured in many of the chapters. 
> 
> Although I must tell you how exciting it is to have a WIP checked off my list...as promised, I do want to get most of them finished up this year, so bear with me.
> 
> Creep is next, and if you have been wondering about House of The Rising Sun, that is just around the corner, too. And then, oh, then. Do I have some _stuff_ planned.
> 
> Thanks to each of you for inspiring me and encouraging me, and especially to my FBI agent for keeping a close eye on my google searches. That last one about the flash-bang grenades and whether one can make a chemical bomb potent enough to destroy a casino was totally innocent, I swear.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter for fic updates, DMs, and occasional thirst tweets and rampant horniness! [@beegood_amy](https://twitter.com/beegood_amy)  
>   
> My works:
> 
> A/B/O:  
> [House of The Rising Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21512809/chapters/51276604) (A/B/O, Epic Scale Fantasy with a Canon-flavor, Read the tags, WIP to resume soon)  
> [The Wickedy Witch of Carnegie Hill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450107/chapters/64445872) (A/B/O, Enchanted AU, Fluffy, Sweet, Low-angst, WIP)  
> [First Knot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978156) (Preylo, A/B/O, quick and FILTHY, COMPLETE)  
> [Bad Neighbors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874359) (A/B/O, cop/lawyer, enemies-to-lovers, COMPLETE)  
>   
> Darker Stuff:  
> [Dirty Deeds](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/28675278) (DARK, BREYLO, BENLO, one-shot that may be more someday)  
> [creep](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/25554175/chapters/62008714) (Stalker, DARKFIC, Thriller, WIP)  
> [Body of Work](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/24723547/chapters/59762740) (Soulmates, Killers, COMPLETE)  
> [Little Animals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902718) (DARKFIC, SMUT, Read the Tags, COMPLETE)  
> [GatorWestern](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502323) (Vampire/Horror WIP, COMPLETE)  
>   
> Short and Smutty:  
> [Double Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19903981/chapters/47144941) (Breylo, Benlo, Absolutely raunchy filth, smut, COMPLETE)  
> [Smoke Gets In Your Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231210) (Short fic, stoner soulmates, filthy smut, COMPLETE)  
> [Fire Down Below](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20659043/chapters/49061249) (Filthy two-shot, Porn AU, crack, COMPLETE)  
> [Freak Show](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1098873) (Circus AU, Comedy, one-shot series)  
> [Special Order](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16836562) (one-shot)  
> [Urinal Cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412686) (one-shot, no urine or cakes involved, I swear!)  
>   
> Long and Plotty (and also Smutty):  
> [Say It With Feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710287) (Funny, Escort/Sugar Daddy AU, smutty, COMPLETE)  
> [Music To My Ears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15121106) (Classical Music/Assassins AU, re-booting WIP)  
> [Devil on the Dark Side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287023) (Modern Hades/Persephone Fairy Tale WIP, one more chapter to go!)  
>   
> Also: [Into That Good Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22437334/chapters/53609257) (Sweet, Rated M, Emotional, COMPLETE)
> 
> Currently, Cake, American Stars, Knotting Hill, Every Which Way But Loose, and The Secret Flower Club are all waiting behind hidden doors until I wrap up a few other WIPs.  
> Although my WIPs are in varying stages of progress, I can promise none of them are abandoned, just resting. :)
> 
> XOXO!


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